THE 

Tabard   Inn 
Litrarj 


For  the  u/e  of  Members  only 


all  tke  RED  TAPE  on  Me  BOX 


No. 


309 


Under   the  bu/ine^  management  of 

THE   BOOKLWERS  LtBRHRy  ' 

1323  Walnut  Street, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


i 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 


A  Story  of  Reconstruction 


By 


JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 

|| 

Author  of 
«  Uncle  Remus,"  "  The  Making  of  a  Statesman,"  etc. 


McCLURE,  PHILLIPS  &  CO. 
NEW  YORK 

1902 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BY 
JOEL   CHANDLER   HARRIS 


Published,  October,  1902  R 


GABRIEL    TOLL.TVER 


CONTENTS 


Prelude 


CHAPTER    ONE 
Kettledrum  and  Fife     .     .     .     .     • 


CHAPTER    TWO 
A   Town  with  a  History   .........     33 

CHAPTER    THREE 

The  Return  of  Two   Warriors     .......     42 


CHAPTER    FOUR 
Mr.  Goodletfs  Passengers  .....  ,  .     »  55 

CHAPTER    FIVE 

The  Story  of  Margaret  Gaither  .....     .     .     64 

[  vii] 


CON  T  E  N  T  S 
CHAPTER    SIX 

PAGE 

The  Passing  of  Margaret       .     .     ..    ...     .     .     .     81 

% 

CHAPTER    SEVEN 
Silas  Tomlin  Goes  A-Calling      .......     94 

CHAPTER    EIGHT 

The  Political  Machine  Begins  Its  Work  .     .     .     .109 

CHAPTER    NINE 
Nan  and  Gabriel      .....     .     .     .     ...  125 

CHAPTER    TEN 

The  Troubles  of  Nan  ..........   134 

CHAPTER    ELEVEN 
Mr.  Sanders  in  His  Cups      ........  148 

CHAPTER  TWELVE 

Caught  in  a  Corner      .     .     .     .     ,     .     .     .     .     .157 


CHAPTER    THIRTEEN 
The  Union  League  Organises     ...     .     . 


CONTENTS 
CHAPTER    FOURTEEN 

PAGE 

Nan  and  Her  Young  Lady  Friends     .     .     .     .     .187 

CHAPTER    FIFTEEN 

Silas  Tomlin  Scents  Trouble ....     *     .     .     .     .199 

CHAPTER    SIXTEEN 
Silas  Tomlin  Finds  Trouble  .     .  '  .     .     .     .     .     .212 

CHAPTER    SEVENTEEN 

Rhody  Has  Something  to  Say .  226 

CHAPTER    EIGHTEEN 
The  Knights  of  the  White  Camellia 242 

CHAPTER    NINETEEN 

Major  Tomlin  Perdue  Arrives     .     .     .     .     .     .     .256 

CHAPTER    TWENTY 
Gabriel  at  the  Big  Poplar      ....,*,.  267 

CHAPTER    TWENTY-ONE 

BridalUn  Follows  Gabriel .277 

[ix] 


C  O  N  T  E  N  T  S 
CHAPTER    TWENTY-TWO 

PAGE 

The  Fate  of  Mr.  Hotchkiss   .     .     .     »     .     «     .    ..  290 

CHAPTER    TWENTY-THREE 

Mr.  Sanders  Searches  for  Evidence      »     .     »     .        300 

CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOUR 

Captain  Falconer  Makes  Suggestions    .     .     .     .     .318 

CHAPTER    TWENTY-FIVE 
Mr.  Sanders's  Riddle    .     .     .     .     ......  330 

CHAPTER    TWENTY-SIX 

Cephas  Has  His  Troubles      .....     .     .     .341 

CHAPTER    TWENTY-SEVEN 

Mr.  Sanders  Visits  Some  of  His  Old  Friends     .     .  353 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-EIGHT 
Nan  and  Margaret  ....... 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-NINE 
Bridalbin  Finds  His  Daughter   .*..,..  380 


C  O  N  T  E  N  T  S 
CHAPTER    THIRTY 

PAGE 

Miss  Polly  Has  Some  News  .     .     .     .     .     .-.-'.  393 

CHAPTER    THIRTY-ONE 

Mr.  Sanders  Receives  a  Message     .     .     .     ...     .  408 

CHAPTER    THIRTY-TWO 
Malvern  Has  a  Holiday   .     .     .     .     .     •     ."    .     .418 

CHAPTER    THIRTY-THREE 
Gabriel  as  an  Orator    .     .     . 432 

CHAPTER    THIRTY-FOUR 

Nan  Surrenders  .  .  443 


[xi] 


To 
James  Wliitcomb  Riley 


9128*54: 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 


GABRIEL    TOLL IYER 


Prelude 

CEPHAS!    here  is  a  letter  for  you,  and  it  is  from 
Shady  Dale!     I  know  you  will  be  happy  now." 

For  several  years  Sophia  had  listened  calmly  to  my 
glowing  descriptions  of  Shady  Dale  and  the  people 
there.  She  was  patient,  but  I  could  see  by  the  way  she 
sometimes  raised  her  eyebrows  that  she  was  a  trifle 
suspicious  of  my  judgment,  and  that  she  thought  my 
opinions  were  unduly  coloured  by  my  feelings.  Once 
she  went  so  far  as  to  suggest  that  I  was  all  the  time 
looking  at  the  home  people  through  the  eyes  of  boy 
hood — eyes  that  do  not  always  see  accurately.  She  had 
said,  moreover,  that  if  I  were  to  return  to  Shady  Dale, 
I  would  find  that  the  friends  of  my  boyhood  were  in 
no  way  different  from  the  people  I  meet  every  day. 
This  was  absurd,  of  course— or,  rather,  it  would  have 
been  absurd  for  any  one  else  to  make  the  suggestion; 
for  at  that  particular  time,  Sophia  was  a  trifle  jealous 
of  Shady  Dale  and  its  people.  Nevertheless,  she  was 
really  patient.  You  know  how  exasperating  a  man  can 
be  when  he  has  a  hobby.  Well,  my  hobby  was  Shady 
Dale,  and  I  was  not  ashamed  of  it.  The  man  or 
woman  who  cannot  display  as  much  of  the  homing  in- 

m 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVKR 

stinct  as  a  cat  or  a  pigeon!  is  a  creature  to  be  pitied  or 
despised.  Sophia  herself  WPS  a  tramp,  as  she  often 
said.  She  was  born  in  a  little  suburban  town  in  New 
York  State,  but  never  lived  there  long  enough  to  know 
what  home  was.  She  went  to  Albany,  then  to  Canada, 
and  finally  to  Georgia ;  so  that  the  only  real  home  she 
ever  knew  is  the  one  she  made  herself — out  of  the  raw 
material,  as  one  might  say. 

Well,  she  came  running  with  the  letter,  for  she  is 
still  active,  though  a  little  past  the  prime  of  her  youth. 
I  returned  the  missive  to  her  with  a  faint  show  of  dig 
nity.  "  The  letter  is  for  you,"  I  said.  She  looked  at 
the  address  more  carefully,  and  agreed  with  me.  "  What 
in  the  world  have  I  done,"  she  remarked,  "  to  receive  a 
letter  from  Shady  Dale?" 

"  Why,  it  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  I  re 
plied.  "  You  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  marry 
me." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  "  she  cried,  dropping  me  a  little  curtsey ; 
"  and  I  thank  you  kindly !  " 

The  letter  was  from  an  old  friend  of  mine — a  school 
mate — and  it  was  an  invitation  to  Sophia,  begging  her 
to  take  a  day  off,  as  the  saying  is,  and  spend  it  in 
Shady  Dale. 

"  Your  children,"  the  letter  said,  "  will  be  glad  to 
visit  their  father's  old  home,  and  I  doubt  not  we  can 
make  it  interesting  for  the  wife."  The  letter  closed 
with  some  prettily  turned  compliments  which  rather 
caught  Sophia.  But  her  suspicions  were  still  in  full 
play. 


PRELUDE 

"  I  know  the  invitation  is  sent  on  your  account,  and 
not  on  mine,"  she  said,  holding  the  letter  at  arm's 
length. 

"Well,  why  not?  If  my  old  friend  loves  me  well 
enough  to  be  anxious  to  give  rny  wife  and  children 
pleasure,  what  is  there  wrong  about  that?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  replied  Sophia.  "  I've  a  great  mind 
to  go." 

"  If  you  do,  my  dear,  you  will  make  a  number  of 
people  happy — yourself  and  the  children,  and  many  of 
my  old  friends." 

"  He  declares,"  said  Sophia,  "  that  he  writes  at  the 
request  of  his  wife.  You  know  how  much  of  that  to 
believe." 

"  I  certainly  do.  Imagine  me,  for  instance,  inviting 
to  visit  us  a  lady  whom  you  had  never  met." 

Whereupon  Sophia  laughed.  "  I  believe  you'd  en 
dorse  any  proposition  that  came  from  Shady  Dale," 
she  declared. 

She  accepted  the  invitation  more  out  of  curiosity 
than  with  any  expectation  of  enjoying  herself;  but 
she  stayed  longer  than  she  had  intended;  and  when 
she  came  back  her  views  and  feelings  had  undergone  a 
complete  change.  "  Cephas,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself  for  not  going  to  see  those  people,"  she  de 
clared.  "  Why,  they  are  the  salt  of  the  earth.  I  never 
expected  to  be  treated  as  they  treated  me.  If  it  wasn't 
for  your  business,  I  would  beg  you  to  go  back  there 
and  live.  They  are  just  like  the  people  you  read  about 
in  the  books — I  mean  the  good  people,  the  ideal  char- 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

acters — the  men  and  women  you  would  like  to  meet." 
Here  she  paused  and  sighed.  "  Oh,  I  wouldn't  have 
missed  that  visit  for  anything.  But  what  amazes  me, 
Cephas,  is  that  you've  never  put  in  your  books  char 
acters  such  as  you  find  in  Shady  Dale." 

The  suggestion  was  a  fertile  one;  it  had  in  it  the 
active  principle  of  a  germ;  and  it  was  not  long  before 
the  ferment  began  to  make  itself  felt.  \Thc  past  be 
gan  to  renew  itself;  the  sun  shone  on  the  old  days  and 
gave  them  an  illumination  which  they  lacked  when  they 
were  new.  Time's  perspective  gave  them  a  mellower 
tone,  and  they  possessed,  at  least  for  me,  that  element 
of  mystery  which  seems  to  attach  to  whatever  is  vener 
able.  It  was  as  if  the  place,  the  people,  and  the  scenes 
had  taken  the  shape  of  a  huge  picture,  with  just  such 
a  lack  of  harmony  and  unity  as  we  find  in  real  life^> 

Let  those  who  can  do  so  continue  to  import  har 
mony  and  unity  into  the;r  fabrications  and  call  it  art. 
Whether  it  be  art  or  artificiality,  the  trick  is  beyond 
my  powers.  (l  can  only  deal  with  things  as  they  were; 
on  many  occasions  they  were  far  from  what  I  would 
have  had  them  to  be;  but  as  I  was  powerless  to  change 
them,  so  am  I  powerless  to  twist  individuals  and  events 
to  suit  the  demands  or  necessities  of  what  is  called  ary 

Such  a  feafc  might  be  possible  if  I  were  to  tell  the 
simple  story  of  Nan  and  Gabriel  and  Tasma  Tid  dur 
ing  the  days  when  they  roamed  over  the  old  Bermuda 
hills,  and  gazed,  as  it  were,  into  the  worlds  that  ex 
isted  only  in  their  dreams:  for  then  the  story  would 
be  both  fine  and  beautiful.  [  It  would  be  a  wonderful 

' 


PRELUDE 

romance  indeed,  with  just  a  touch  of  tragic  mystery, 
gathered  from  the  fragmentary  history  of  Tasma  Tid, 

a   child-woman    from    the   heart   of    Africa,    who   had 
\^/^^-^*\^^^^ 

formed  a  part  of  the  cargo  of  the  yacht  Wanderer^/ 
which  landed  three  hundred  slaves  on  the  coast  of 
Georgia  in  the  last  months  of  1858.  You  may  find 
the  particulars  of  the  case  of  the  Wanderer  in  the  files 
of  the  Savannah  newspapers,  and  in  the  records  of  the 
United  States  Court  for  that  district;  but  the  tragic 
history  of  Tasma  Tid  can  be  found  neither  in  the  news 
papers  nor  in  the  court  records. 

But  for  this  one  touch  of  mystery  and  tragedy,  this 
chronicle,  supposing  it  to  deal  only  with  the  childhood 
and  early  youth  of  Nan  and  Gabriel,  would  resolve 
itself  into  a  marvellous  fairy  tale,  made  up  of  the  in 
nocent  dreams  and  Jaopes  and  beliefs,  and  all  the  ex 
traordinary  inventions  and  imaginings  of  childhood. 
And  even  mystery  and  tragedy  have  their  own  par 
ticular  forms  of  simplicity,  so  that,  with  Tasma  Tid  in 
the  background  the  tale  would  be  artless  enough  to 
satisfy  the  most  artful.  For,  even  if  the  reader,  seated 
on  the  magic  cloak  of  some  competent  story-teller,  were 
transported  to  the  heart  of  Africa,  where  the  moun 
tains,  with  their  feet  in  the  jungle,  reach  up  and  touch 
the  moon,  or  to  China,  or  the  Islands  of  the  Sea,  the 
hero  of  the  tale  would  be  the  same.  His  name  is  Dilly 
Bal,  and  he  carries  on  his  operations  wherever  there  are 
stars  in  the  sky.  He  is  a  restless  and  a  roving  creature, 
flitting  to  and  fro  between  all  points  of  the  compass. 

When   King   Sun   crawls   into   his   trundle   bed   and 
[7] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

begins  to  snore,  Dilly  Bal  creeps  forth  from  Some 
where,  or  maybe  from  Nowhere,  which  is  just  on  the 
other  side,  fetching  with  him  a  long  broom,  which  he 
swishes  about  to  such  purpose  that  the  katydids  hear 
it  and  are  frightened.  They  hide  under  the  leaves  and 
are  heard  no  more  that  night.  That  is  why  you  never 
hear  them  crying  and  disputing  when  you  chance  to 
be  awake  after  midnight. 

But  Dilly  Bal  knows  nothing  of  the  katydids;  he 
has  his  own  duties  to  perform,  and  his  own  affairs  to 
attend  to ;  and  these,  as  you  will  presently  see,  are  very 
pressing.  It  is  his  business,  as  well  as  his  pleasure,  to 
be  the  Housekeeper  of  the  Sky,  which  he  dusts  and 
tidies  and  puts  in  order.  It  is  a  part  of  his  duty  to 
see  that  the  stars  are  safely  bestowed  against  the  mo 
ment  when  old  King  Sun  shall  emerge  from  his  tent, 
and  begr  his  march  over  the  world.  And  then,  in  the 
dusk  of  the  evening,  Dilly  Bal  must  take  each  star  from 
the  bag  in  which  he  carries  it,  polish  it  bright,  and  put 
it  in  its  proper  place. 

Sometimes,  as  you  may  have  observed,  a  star  will  fall 
while  Dilly  Bal  is  handling  it.  This  happens  when  he 
is  nervous  for  fear  that  King  Sun,  instead  of  going  to 
bed  in  his  tent,  has  crept  back  and  is  watching  from 
behind  the  cloud  mountains.  Sometimes  a  star  falls 
quite  by  accident,  as  when  Lucindy  or  Patience  drops 
a  plate  in  the  kitchen.  You  will  be  sure  to  know  Dilly 
Bal  when  you  see  him,  for,  in  handling  the  stars  and 
dusting  the  sky,  his  clothes  get  full  of  yellow  cobwebs, 
which  he  never  bothers  himself  to  brush  off. 

[8] 


PRELUDE 

But  Dilly  Bal's  most  difficult  job  is  with  the  Moon. 
Regularly  the  Moon  blackens  her  face  in  a  vain  effort 
to  hide  from  King  Sun.  If  she  used  smut  or  soot, 
Dillv  Bal's  task  would  not  be  so  difficult;  but  she  has 
found  a  lake  of  pitch  somewhere  in  Africa,  and  in  this 
lake  she  smears  her  face  till  it  is  so  black  her  best 
friends  wouldn't  know  her.  The  pitch  is  such  sticky 
stuff  that  it  is  days  and  days  before  it  can  be  rubbed 
off.  The  truth  is,  Dilly  Bal  never  does  succeed  in  get 
ting  all  the  pitch  off.  At  her  brightest,  the  Moon 
shows  signs  of  it.  So  said  Tasma  Tid,  and  so  we  all 
firmly  believed. 

Yes,  indeed!  If  this  chronicle  could  be  confined  to 
the  childhood  and  youth  of  those  children,  Dilly  Bal 
would  be  the  hero  first  and  last.  He  was  so  real  to  all 
of  us  that  we  used  to  wander  out  to  the  old  Bermuda 
fields  almost  every  fine  afternoon,  and  sit  there  until 
the  light  had  faded  from  the  sky,  watching  Dilly  Bal 
hanging  the  stars  on  their  pegs.  The  Evening  Star 
was  such  a  large  and  heavy  one  that  Dilly  Bal  always 
replaced  it  before  dark,  so  as  to  be  sure  not  to  drop  it. 

Once  when  we  stayed  out  in  the  Bermuda  fields  later 
than  usual,  a  big  star  fell  from  its  place,  and  went  fly 
ing  across  the  sky,  leaving  a  long  and  brilliant  streamer 
behind  it.  At  first,  Nan  thought  that  Dilly  Bal  had 
tried  to  hang  the  Evening  Star  on  the  wrong  peg,  but 
when  she  looked  in  the  west,  there  was  the  big  star 
winking  at  her  and  at  all  of  us  as  hard  as  it  could. 

The  pity  of  it  was  that  Nan  and  Gabriel,  and  all 
their  young  friends,  had  finally  to  come  in  contact 

[9] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

with  the  hard  practical  affairs  of  the  world.  As  for 
Tasma  Tid,  contact  had  no  special  influence  on  her. 
She  was  to  all  appearance  as  unchangeable  as  the  pyr 
amids,  and  as  mysterious  as  the  Sphinx.  But  it  was 
different  with  Nan  and  Gabriel,  and,  indeed,  with  all 
the  rest.  Their  story  soon  ceased  to  be  a  simple  one. 
In  some  directions,  it  appeared  to  be  a  hopeless  tangle, 
catching  a  great  many  other  persons  in  its  loops  and 
meshes;  so  that,  instead  of  a  simple,  entrancing  story, 
all  aglow  with  the  glamour  of  romance,  they  had 
troubles  that  were  grievous,  and  their  full  share  of 
dulness  and  tediousness,  which  are  the  essential  ingre 
dients  of  everyday  life. 

After  all,  it  is  perhaps  fortunate  that  the  marvellous 
dreams  of  Nan  and  Gabriel,  and  the  quaint  imaginings 
of  Tasma  Tid  are  not  to  be  chronicled.  The  spinning 
of  this  glistening  gossamer  once  begun  would  have  no 
end,  for  Nan  was  an  expert  dreamer  both  night  and 
day,  and  in  the  practice  of  this  art,  Gabriel  was  not 
far  behind  her;  while  Tasma  Tid,  who  was  Nan's  maid 
and  bodyguard,  could  frame  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  tell  you  stories  from  sunrise  to  sundown  and  far 
into  the  night. 

(^  Tasma  Tid,  though  she  was  only  a  child  in  stature 
and  nature,  was  growner  in  years,  as  she  said,  than 
some  of  the  grownest  grown  folks  that  they  knew.  She 
was  a  dwarf  by  race,  and  always  denied  bitterly,  some 
times  venomously,  that  she  was  a  negro,  declaring  that 
in  her^  country  the  people  were  always  at  war  with  the 
blacks/  Her  color  was  dark  brown,  light  enough  for 

[  10  ] 


PRELUDE 

the  blood  tints  to  show  in  her  face,  and  her  hair  was 
straight  and  glossy  black.  From  the  Wanderer,  she 
soon  found  herself  in  the  slave  market  at  Malvern,  and 
there  she  fell  under  the  eye  of  Dr.  Randolph  Dorring- 
ton,  Nan's  father,  who  bought  her  forthwith.  He 
thought  that  a  live  doll  would  please  his  daughter. 
The  dwarf  said  that  her  name  was  Tasma  Tid  in  her 
country,  and  she  would  answer  to  no  other. 

It  was  a  very  fortunate  bargain  all  around,  especially 
for  Nan,  for  in  the  African  woman  she  found  both  a 
playmate  and  a  protector.  Tasma  Tid  was  far  above 
the  average  negro  in  intelligence,  in  courage  and  in 
cunning.  She  was  as  obstinate  as  a  mule,  and  no  mat 
ter  what  obstacles  were  thrown  in  her  way,  her  own 
desires  always  prevailed  in  the  end,  a  fact  that  will 
explain  her  early  appearance  in  the  slave  market.  Those 
of  her  owners  who  failed  to  understand  her  were  not 
willing  to  see  her  spoil  on  their  hands,  like  a  barrel  of 
potatoes  or  a  basket  of  shrimps.  The  African  was 
uncanny  when  she  chose  to  be,  outspoken,  vicious,  and 
tender-hearted,  her  nature  being  compounded  of  the 
same  qualities  and  contradictions  as  those  which  be 
long  to  the  great  ladies  of  the  earth,  who,  with  oppor 
tunity  always  at  their  elbows,  have  contrived  to  create 
a  great  stir  in  the  world. 

When  Dr.  Dorrington  fetched  Tasma  Tid  home,  he 
called  out  to  Nan  from  his  gig :  "I  have  brought  you 
a  live  doll,  daughter;  come  and  see  how  you  like  it." 

Nan  went  running — she  never  learned  how  to  walk 
until  she  was  several  years  older — and  regarded  Tasma 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Tid  with  both  surprise  and  sympathy.  The  African, 
seeing  only  the  sympathy,  leaped  from  the  gig,  seized 
Nan  around  the  waist,  lifted  her  from  the  ground,  ran 
this  way  and  that,  and  then  released  her  with  a  loud 
and  joyous  laugh. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  cried  Nan,  some 
what  taken  aback. 

"  She  stan'  fer  we  howdy,"  the  African  answered. 

"  Well,  let's  see  you  tell  popsy  howdy,"  suggested 
Nan,  indicating  her  father. 

"  Uh-uh !  he  we  buckra." 

From  that  hour  Tasma  Tid  attached  herself  to  Nan, 
following  her  everywhere  with  the  unquestioning  fidelity 
of  a  dog.  She  sat  on  the  floor  of  the  dining-room  while 
Nan  ate  her  meals,  and  slept  on  a  pallet  by  the  child's 
bed  at  night.  If  the  African  was  sweeping  the  yard, 
a  task  she  sometimes  consented  to  perform,  she  would 
fling  the  brushbroom  away  and  go  with  Nan  if  the 
child  started  out  at  the  gate.  At  first  this  constant 
attendance  was  somewhat  annoying  to  Nan,  for  she 
was  an  independent  lass ;  but  presently,  when  she  found 
that  Tasma  Tid  was  a  most  accomplished  and  versa 
tile  playfellow,  as  well  as  the  depositary  of  hundreds 
of  curious  fables  and  quaint  tales  of  the  wildwood, 
Nan's  irritation  disappeared. 

As  for  Gabriel — Gabriel  Tolliver — he  was  almost  as 
indispensable  as  the  African  woman.  Children  learn  a 
good  many  things,  as  they  grow  older,  and  I  have 
heard  that  Nan  and  Gabriel  were  thought  to  be  queer, 
and  that  all  who  were  much  in  their  company  were  also 

[  12] 


PRELUDE 

thought  to  be  queer.  No  one  knows  why.  It  was  a 
simple  statement,  and  simple  statements  are  readily  be 
lieved,  because  no  one  takes  the  trouble  to  inquire  into 
them.  A  man  who  has  views  different  from  those  of 
the  majority  is  called  eccentric;  if  he  insists  on  promul 
gating  them,  he  is  known  as  a  crank.  In  the  case  of 
Nan  and  Gabriel,  it  may  be  said  by  one  who  knows, 
that,  while  they  were  different  from  the  majority  of 
children,  they  were  neither  queer  nor  eccentric. 

They,  and  those  whom  they  chose  as  companions, 
were  children  at  a  time  when  the  demoralisation  of  war 
was  about  to  begin — when  it  was  already  casting  its 
long  shadow  before  it — and  when  their  elders  were  dis 
cussing  as  hard  as  ever  they  could  the  questions  of 
State  rights,  the  true  interpretation  of  the  Constitu 
tion,  squatter  sovereignty,  the  right  of  secession — every 
question,  in  short,  except  the  one  at  issue.  In  this  way, 
and  for  this  reason,  the  two  children  and  their  com 
panions  were  thrown  back  upon  themselves. 

Of  those  who  formed  this  merry  little  company,  not 
one  went  to  the  academies  that  had  been  established  in 
the  town  early  enough  to  be  its  most  ancient  institu 
tions.  Nan  was  taught  by  her  father,  Randolph  Dor- 
rington,  and  Gabriel  and  I  said  our  lessons  to  his 
grandmother,  Mrs.  Lucy  Lumsden.  Thus  it  happened 
that  we  were  through  with  our  school  tasks  before  the 
children  in  the  two  academies  had  begun  their  morning 
recess. 

"  We  would  never  have  been  such  good  friends,"  said 
Nan  on  one  occasion,  "  if  I  hadn't  wanted  to  go  to  your 

[  13] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

house,  Gabriel,  to  see  how  your  grandmother  wavies  hei 
hair.  I  saw  Cephas,  and  asked  him  to  go  along  with 
me."  Child  as  she  was,  Nan  had  her  little  vanities.  She 
desired  above  all  things  that  her  hair  should  fall  away 
from  her  brow  in  little  rippling  waves,  like  those  that 
shone  in  the  silver-grey  hair  of  Gabriel's  grandmother. 

"  Why,  my  grandmother  doesn't  wavie  her  hair  at 
all,"  protested  Gabriel. 

"  Of  course  not,"  replied  Nan,  with  a  toss  of  the 
hand ;  "  I  found  that  out  for  myself.  And  I  was  very 
sorry ;  I  want  my  hair  to  wavie  like  hers  and  yours." 

"  Well,  if  your  hair  was  to  wavie  like  mine,"  said 
Gabriel,  "  you'd  have  a  mighty  hard  time  combing  it 
in  the  morning." 

"  Don't  you  remember,"  Nan  went  on  in  a  reminis 
cent  way,  "  that  she  made  you  shake  hands  with  me 
that  day?  It  was  funny  the  way  you  came  up  and 
held  out  your  arm.  If  I  had  jumped  at  you  and  said 
Boo!  I  don't  know  what  would  have  happened."  Gabriel 
grew  very  red  at  this,  but  Nan  ignored  his  embarrass 
ment.  "  You  had  syrup  on  your  fingers,  you  know, 
and  then  we  all  had  some  in  a  saucer.  Yes,  and  we  all 
sopped  our  bread  in  the  same  saucer,  and  Cephas  here 
got  the  syrup  on  his  face  and  in  his  hair." 

It  never  occurred  to  me  in  those  days  that  Nan  was 
beautiful,  or  that  Gabriel  was  handsome,  but  looking 
back  in  the  light  of  experience,  it  is  easy  to  remember 
that  they  had  in  their  features  all  the  promises  that  the 
long  and  slow-moving  years  were  to  fulfil.  I  was 
struck,  however,  by  one  peculiarity  of  Nan's  face.  When 

[  14]  ' 


PRELUDE 

her  countenance  was  at  rest,  it  gave  out  a  hint  of  mel 
ancholy,  and  there  was  an  appealing  look  in  her  brown 
eyes;  but  when  she  smiled  or  laughed,  the  sombre  face 
broke  up  into  numberless  dimples.  Apart  from  her 
countenance,  there  was  a  charm  about  her  which  I  have 
never  been  able  to  trace  to  its  source,  and  which  of 
course  is  beyond  description;  and  this  charm  remained, 
and  made  itself  felt  whether  the  appearance  of  melan 
choly  had  its  dwelling-place  in  her  eyes,  which  were 
large,  and  lustrous,  and  full  of  tenderness,  or  whether 
her  face  was  brilliant  with  smiles.  She  had  a  deserved 
reputation  as  a  tomboy,  but  she  carried  off  her  tricksy 
whims  with  a  daintiness  that  preserved  them  from  all 
hint  of  coarseness;  and  if  sometimes  she  was  rude,  she 
had  a  way  of  righting  herself  that  none  could  resist. 

As  for  Gabriel,  he  was  always  large  for  his  age. 
He  was  strong  and  healthy,  possessing  every  physical 
excuse  for  roughness  and  boisterousness ;  but  associa 
tion  with  his  grandmother,  who  was  one  of  the  gentlest 
of  gentlewomen,  had  toned  him  down  and  smoothed  the 
rough  edges.  His  hair  was  dark  and  curly,  and  his 
face  gave  promise  of  great  strength  of  character — a 
promise  which,  it  may  be  said  here,  was  fulfilled  to  the 
letter.  He  was  as  whimsical  as  Nan,  and,  in  addition, 
had  moods  to  which  she  was  a  stranger. 

These  things  did  not  occur  to  Cephas  the  Child,  but 
are  the  fruits  of  his  memory  and  experience.  He  only 
knew  at  that  time  that  Nan  and  Gabriel  were  both  very 
good  to  him.  He  was  considerably  younger  than  either 
of  them,  and  he  often  wondered  then,  and  has  wondered 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

since,  why  they  were  such  good  friends  of  his,  and  why 
they  were  constantly  hunting  him  up  if  he  failed  to 
make  his  appearance.  Perhaps  because  he  was  so  full 
of  unadulterated  mischief.  Gabriel,  with  all  his  gravity, 
was  full  of  a  quaint  humour,  and  Nan  hunted  for  cause 
for  laughter  in  everything;  and  she  was  never  more 
beautiful  than  when  this  same  laughter  had  shaken  her 
tawny  hair  about  her  face. 

We  had  travelled  widely.  Nan  had  been  to  Malvern 
with  her  father,  and  had  seen  sights — railway  trains, 
omilybuses,  as  she  called  them,  a  great  big  hotel,  and 
"  oodles  "  of  crippled  persons ;  yes,  and  besides  the  crip 
pled  persons,  there  was  a  blind  man  standing  on  the  cor 
ner  with  a  big  card  hanging  from  his  neck;  and  that 
very  day,  she  had  eaten  "  reesins  "  until  she  never  wanted 
'em  any  more,  as  she  said.  Gabriel  and  Cephas  had 
not  gone  so  far;  but  once  upon  a  time,  they  went  to 
Halcyondale,  and,  among  other  things,  had  seen  Major 
Tomlin  Perdue  kill  sparrows  with  a  pistol.  Nan  had 
been  anxious  to  go  with  them  at  the  time,  but  when  she 
heard  about  the  slaughter  of  the  sparrows,  she  was  very 
glad  she  had  stayed  at  home,  for  what  did  a  grown 
man  as  old  as  Major  Perdue  want  to  kill  the  poor 
little  brown  sparrows  for?  Nan's  question  was  never 
answered.  Gabriel  and  Cephas  had  only  seen  in  the 
transaction  the  enviable  skill  of  the  Major;  whereas 
Nan  thought  of  nothing  but  the  poor  little  birds  that 
had  been  slain  for  a  holiday  show.  "  They  may  have 
been  singing  sparrows,  or  snow-birds,"  mourned  Nan. 
True  enough;  but  Gabriel  and  Cephas  had  thought  of 


PRELUDE 

nothing  but  the  skill  of  the  marksman  with  his  duelling 
pistols.  Tasma  Tid  also  had  her  point  of  view.  "  Wey 
you  no  fetcha  dem  lil  bud  home  fer  we  supper?  "  She 
was  hardly  satisfied  when  she  was  told  that  the  little 
birds,  all  put  together,  would  have  made  hardly  more 
than  a  mouthful. 


[17] 


CHAPTER   ONE 


Kettledrum  and  Fife 

A  HE  serene  repose  of  Shady  Dale  no  doubt  stood  for 
dulness  and  lack  of  progress  in  that  day  and  time.  In 
all  ages  of  the  world,  and  in  all  places,  there  are  men 
of  restless  but  superficial  minds,  who  mistake  repose  and 
serenity  for  stagnation.  No  doubt  then,  as  now,  the 
most  awful  sentence  to  be  passed  on.  a  community  was 
to  say  that  it  was  not  progressive.  But  when  you  ex 
amine  into  the  matter,  what  is  called  progress  is  noth 
ing  more  nor  less  than  the  multiplication  of  the  resources 
of  those  who,  by  means  of  dicker  and  barter,  are  trying 
all  the  time  to  overreach  the  public  and  their  fellows, 
in  one  way  and  another.  This  sort  of  thing  now  has 
a  double  name;  it  is  called  civilisation,  as  well  as  prog 
ress,  and  those  who  take  things  as  they  find  them  in 
their  morning  newspaper,  without  going  to  the  trouble 
to  reflect  for  themselves,  are  no  doubt  duly  impressed 
by  terms  that  are  large  enough  to  fill  both  the  ear  and 
mouth  at  one  and  the  same  time.J 

Well,  whatever  serene  repose  stands  for,  Shady  Dale 
possessed  it  in  an  eminent  degree,  and  the  people  there 
had  their  full  share  of  the  sorrows  and  troubles  of  this 

[   18] 


KETTLEDRUM    AND    FIFE 

world,  as  Madame  Awtry,  or  Miss  Puella  Gillum,  or 
Neighbour  Tomlin,  or  even  that  cheerful  philosopher, 
Mr.  Billy  Sanders,  could  have  told  you;  but  of  these 
Nan  and  Gabriel  and  Cephas  knew  nothing  except  in  a 
vague,  indefinite  way.  They  heard  hints  of  rumours, 
and  sometimes  they  saw  their  elders  shaking  their  heads 
as  they  gossiped  together,  but  the  youngsters  lived  in 
a  world  of  their  own,  a  world  apart,  and  the  vague 
rumours  were  no  more  interesting  to  them  than  the  re 
ports  of  canals  on  Mars  are  to  the  average  person  to 
day.  He  reads  in  his  newspaper  that  the  markings  in 
Mars  are  supposed  to  be  canals ;  whereat  he  smiles  and 
reflects  that  these  canals  can  do  him  no  harm.  Nan  and 
Gabriel  and  Cephas  were  as  far  from  contemporary 
troubles  as  we  are  from  Mars.  The  most  serious  trouble 
they  had  was  not  greater  than  that  which  they  discov 
ered  one  day  on  the  Bermuda  hill.  As  they  were  sitting 
on  the  warm  grass,  wondering  how  long  before  peaches 
would  be  ripe,  they  saw  a  field  mouse  cutting  up  some 
queer  capers.  Nan  was  not  very  friendly  with  mice, 
and  she  instinctively  gathered  up  her  skirts;  but  she 
did  not  run;  her  curiosity  was  ever  greater  than  her 
fear.  Presently  we  found  that  the  troubles  of  Mother 
Mouse  were  very  real.  A  tremendous  black  beetle  had 
invaded  her  nest,  and  had  seized  one  of  her  children,  a 
little  bit  of  a  thing,  naked  and  red  and  about  the  size 
of  a  half-ripe  mulberry.  We  tried  hard  to  rescue  the 
mouse  from  the  beetle,  but  soon  found  that  it  was  quite  ff 
dead.  Cephas  crushed  the  beetle,  which  was  as  ven 
omous-looking  a  bug  as  they  had  ever  seen.  Was  the 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

beetle  preparing  to  eat  the  mouse?     Tasma  Tid  said 

*  yes,  but  Gabriel  thought  not.     His  idea  was  that  the 

/ ,  Mother  Mouse  had  attacked  the  beetle,  which  was  blindly 

crawling  about,  and  had  fallen  in  the  nest  accidentally. 

The  beetle,  striving  to  defend  itself,  had  seized  the  mouse 

between  its  pinchers,  and  held  it  there  until  it  was  quite 

dead. 

But  the  Bermuda  fields  were  not  the  only  resource  of 
the  children.  There  were  seasons  when  Uncle  Plato, 
who  was  Meriwether  Clopton's  carriage-driver,  came  to 
town  with  the  big  waggon  to  haul  home  the  supplies 
necessary  for  the  plantation;  loads  of  bagging  and 
rope;  cases  of  brogan  shoes,  and  hats  for  the  negroes; 
and  bales  on  bales  of  osnaburgs  and  blankets.  The 
appearance  of  the  Clopton  waggon  on  the  public  square 
was  hailed  by  these  youngsters  with  delight.  They  al 
ways  made  a  rush  for  it,  and,  in  riding  back  and  forth 
with  Uncle  Plato,  they  spent  some  of  the  most  delightful 
moments  of  their  lives. 

And  then  in  the  fall  season,  there  was  the  big  gin 
running  at  the  Clopton  place,  with  old  Beck,  the  blind 
mule,  going  round  and  round,  turning  the  cogged  and 
pivoted  post  that  set  the  machinery  in  motion.  But 
the  youngsters  rarely  grew  tired  of  riding  back  and 
forth  with  Uncle  Plato.  He  was  the  one  person  in  the 
world  who  catered  most  completely  to  their  whims,  who 
was  most  responsive  to  their  budding  and  eager  fancies, 
and  who  entered  most  enthusiastically  into  the  regions 
created  and  peopled  by  Nan's  skittish  and  fantastic 
imagination. 

[20] 


KETTLEDRUM    AND    FIFE 

These  children  had  their  critics,  as  may  well  be  sup 
posed,  especially  Nan,  who  did  not  always  conform  to 
the  rules  and  theories  which  have  been  set  up  for  the 
guidance  of  girls ;  but  Uncle  Plato,  along  with  Gabriel 
and  Cephas,  accepted  her  as  she  was,  with  all  her  faults, 
and  took  as  much  delight  in  her  tricksy  and  capricious 
behaviour,  as  if  he  were  responsible  for  it  all.  She  and 
her  companions  furnished  Uncle  Plato  with  what  all 
story-tellers  have  most  desired  since  hairy  man  began 
to  shave  himself  with  pumice-stone,  and  squat  around 
a  common  hearth — a  faithful  and  believing  audience. 
Uncle  ^Esop,  it  may-  be,  cared  less  for  his  audience 
than  for  the  opportunity  of  lugging  in  a  dismal  and 
perfunctory  moral.  Uncle  Plato,  like  Uncle  Remus, 
concealed  his  behind  text  and  adventure,  conveying  it 
none  the  less  completely  on  that  account.  Not  one  of 
his  vagaries  was  too  wild  for  the  acceptance  of  his  small 
audience,  and  the  elusiveness  of  his  methods  was  a  per 
petual  delight  to  Nan,  as  hers  was  to  Uncle  Plato, 
though  he  sometimes  shook  his  head,  and  pretended  to 
sigh  over  her  innocent  evasions. 

Once  when  we  were  all  riding  back  and  forth  from 
the  Clopton  Place  to  Shady  Dale,  Nan  asked  Uncle 
Plato  if  he  could  spell. 

"  Tooby  sho  I  kin,  honey.  What  you  reckon  I  been 
doin'  all  deze  long-come-shorts  ef  I  dunner  how  ter 
spell?  How  you  speck  I  kin  git  'long,  haulin'  an' 
maulin',  ef  I  dunner  how  ter  spell?  Why,  I  could  spell 
long  'fo'  I  know'd  my  own  name." 

"  Long-come-shorts,  what  are  they  ?  "  asked  Nan. 
[21   ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Rainy  days  an'  windy  nights,"  responded  Uncle 
Plato,  throwing  his  head  back,  and  closing  his  eyes. 

"  Let's  hear  you  spell,  then,"  said  Nan. 

"  Dce-o-egg,  dog,"  was  the  prompt  response.  Nan 
looked  at  Uncle  Plato  to  see  if  he  was  joking,  but  he  was 
solemnity  itself.  "  E-double-egg,  egg !  "  he  continued. 

"  Now  spell  John  A.  Murrell,"  said  Nan.  Murrell, 
the  land  pirate,  was  one  of  her  favourite  heroes  at  this 
time. 

Uncle  Plato  pretended  to  be  very  much  shocked. 
"  Why,  honey,  dat  man  wuz  rank  pizen.  En  spozen 
he  wa'nt,  how  you  speck  me  ter  .spell  sump'n  er  some 
body  which  I  ain't  never  laid  eyes  on?  How  I  gwineter 
spell  Johnny  Murrell,  an'  him  done  dead  dis  many  a 
long  year  ago?  " 

"  Well,  spell  goose,  then,"  said  Nan,  seeing  a  flock 
of  geese  marching  stiffly  in  single  file  across  a  field  near 
the  road. 

Uncle  Plato  looked  at  them  carefully  enough  to 
take  their  measure,  and  then  shook  his  head  solemnly. 
"  Deyer  so  many  un  um,  honey,  dey'd  be  monstus  hard 
fer  ter  spell." 

"  Well,  just  spell  one  of  them  then,"  Nan  suggested. 

"Which  un,  honey?" 

"  Any  one  you  choose." 

Uncle  Plato  studied  over  the  matter  a  moment,  and 
again  shook  his  head.  "  Uh-uh,  honey ;  dat  ain't  nigh 
gwine  ter  do.  Ef  you  speck  me  fer  ter  spell  goose,  you 
got  ter  pick  out  de  one  you  want  me  ter  spell." 

"  Well,  spell  the  one  behind  all  the  rest." 

[22  1 


KETTLEDRUM    AND    FIFE 

Again  Uncle  Plato  shook  his  head.  "  Dat  ar  goose 
got  half-grown  goslin's,  an'  I  ain't  never  larnt  how  ter 
spell  goose  wid  half -grown  goslin's.  You  ax  too  much, 
honey." 

"  Then  spell  the  one  next  to  head."  Nan  was  in 
exorable. 

"  Dat  ar  ain't  no  goose,"  replied  Uncle  Plato,  with 
an  air  of  triumph ;  "  she's  a  gander." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  know  how  to  spell  goose,"  said 
Nan,  with  something  like  scorn. 

"  Don't  you  fool  yo'se'f ,  honey,"  remarked  Uncle 
Plato  in  a  tone  of  confidence.  "  You  git  me  a  great 
big  fat  un,  not  too  ol',  an'  not  too  young,  an'  fill  'er 
full  er  stuffin',  an'  bake  'er  brown  in  de  big  oven,  an' 
save  all  de  drippin's,  an'  put  'er  on  de  table  not  fur 
fum  whar  I  mought  be  settin'  at,  an'  gi'  me  a  pone  er 
corn  bread,  an'  don't  have  no  talkin'  an'  laughin'  in  de 
game — an'  ef  I  don't  spell  dat  goose,  I'll  come  mighty 
nigh  it,  I  sholy  will.  Ef  I  don't  spell  'er,  dey  won't 
be  nuff  lef  fer  de  nex'  man  ter  spell.  You  kin  'pen' 
on  dat,  honey." 

Nan  suddenly  called  Uncle  Plato's  attention  to  the 
carriage  horses,  which  were  hitched  to  the  waggon. 
She  said  she  knew  their  names  well  enough  when  they 
were  pulling  the  carriage,  but  now — 

"Haven't  you  changed  the  horses,  Uncle  Plato?" 
she  asked. 

"  HOWT  I  gwine  change  um,  honey  ?  " 

"I  mean,   haven't  you  changed  their  places?" 

"  No,  ma'am ! "  he  answered  with  considerable  em- 
[23] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

phasis.  "  No,  ma'am ;  ef  I  wuz  ter  put  dat  off  hoss  in 
de  lead,  you'd  see  some  mighty  high  kickin' ;  you  sho 
would." 

"  Oh,  let's  try  it !  "  cried  Nan,  with  real  eagerness. 

"  Dem  may  try  it  what  choosen  ter  try  it,"  responded 
Uncle  Plato,  dryly,  "  but  I'll  ax  urn  f er  ter  kindly  le' 
me  git  win'  er  what  deyer  gwine  ter  do,  an'  den  I'll 
make  my  'rangerments  fer  ter  be  somers  out'n  sight  an' 
hearin'." 

"  Well,  if  you  haven't  made  the  horses  swap  places," 
remarked  Nan,  "  I'll  bet  you  a  thrip  that  the  right- 
hand  horse  is  named  Waffles,  and  the  left-hand  one 
Battercakes." 

At  once  Uncle  Plato  became  very  dignified.  "  Well- 
*um,  I'm  mighty  glad  fer  ter  hear  you  sesso,  kaze  ef 
dey's  any  one  thing  what  I  want  mo'  dan  anudder,  it's 
a  thrip's  wuff  er  mannyfac  terbacker.  Ez  fer  de  off 
hoss,  dat's  his  name — Waffles — you  sho  called  it  right. 
But  when  it  comes  ter  de  lead  hoss,  anybody  on  de 
plantation,  er  off'n  it,  I  don't  keer  whar  dey  live  at, 
ef  dey  yever  so  much  ez  hear  er  dat  lead  hoss,  will  be 
glad  fer  ter  tell  you  dat  he  goes  by  de  name  er  Muffins." 
He  held  out  his  hand  for  the  thrip. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  difference  ?  "  said  Nan,  drawing 
back  as  if  to  prevent  him  from  taking  the  thrip. 

"  De  diffunce  er  what?"  inquired  Uncle  Plato. 

"  And  you  expect  me  to  give  you  money  you  haven't 
won,"  declared  Nan.  "  What's  the  difference  between 
Battercakes  and  Muffins?  A  muffin  is  a  battercake  if 
you  pour  three  big  spoonfuls  in  a  pan  and  spread  it 

[24] 


KETTLEDRUM    AND    FIFE 

out,  and  a  battercake  is  a  muffin  if  you  pen  it  up  in  a 
tin-thing  like  a  napkin  ring.  Anybody  can  tell  you 
that,  Uncle  Plato — yes,  anybody." 

What  reply  the  old  negro  would  have  made  to  this 
bit  of  home-made  casuistry  will  never  be  known.  That 
it  would  have  been  reasonable,  if  not  entirely  ade 
quate,  may  well  be  supposed,  but  just  as  he  had  given 
his  head  a  preliminary  shake,  the  rattle  of  a  kettle 
drum  was  heard,  and  above  the  rattle  a  fife  was  shrill 
ing. 

The  shrilling  fife,  and  the  roll  and  rattle  of  the 
drums!  These  were  sounds  somewhat  new  to  Shady 
Dale  in  I860;  but  presently  they  were  to  be  heard  all 
over  the  land. 

"  I  can  see  dem  niggers  right  now ! "  exclaimed 
Uncle  Plato,  as  we  hustled  out  of  his  waggon.  "  Riley 
playin'  de  fife,  Green  beatin'  on  de  kittkdrum,  an'  Ike 
Varner  bangin'  on  de  big  drum.  Ef  de  white  folks 
pay  much  'tention  ter  dem  niggers,  dey  won't  be  no 
livin'  in  de  same  county  wid  um.  But  dey  better  not 
come  struttin'  'roun'  me !  " 

The  drums  were  beating  the  signal  for  calling  to 
gether  the  men  whose  names  had  been  signed  to  the 
roll  of  a  company  to  be  called  the  Shady  Dale  Scouts, 
and  the  meeting  was  for  the  purpose  of  organizing 
and  electing  officers.  All  this  was  accomplished  in  due 
time ;  but  meanwhile  Nan  and  Gabriel  and  Cephas,  as 
well  as  Tasma  Tid  and  all  the  rest  of  the  children  in 
the  town,  went  tagging  after  the  fife  and  drums  lis 
tening  to  Riley  play  the  beautiful  marching  tunes  that 

[25] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

set  Nan's  blood  to  tingling.  Rilcy  was  a  master  hand 
with  the  fife,  and  we  had  never  known  it,  had  never 
even  suspected  it!  Nan  thought  it  was  very  mean  in 
Rilcy  not  to  tell  somebody  that  he  could  play  so  beau 
tifully. 

Well,  in  a  very  short  time,  the  company  was  rigged 
out  in  the  finest  uniforms  the  children  had  even  seen. 
All  the  men,  even  the  privates,  had  plumes  in  their 
hats  and  epaulettes  of  gold  on  their  shoulders ;  and  on 
their  coats  they  wore  stripes  of  glowing  red,  and  shiny 
brass  buttons  without  number.  And  at  least  twice  a 
week  they  marched  through  the  streets  and  out  into 
the  Bermuda  fields,  where  they  had  their  drilling 
grounds.  These  were  glorious  days  for  the  young 
sters.  Nan  was  so  enthusiastic  that  she  organised  a 
company  of  little  negroes,  and  insisted  on  being  the 
captain.  Gabriel  was  the  first  lieutenant,  and  Cephas 
was  the  second.  When  the  company  was  ready  to  take 
the  field,  it  was  discovered  that  Nan  would  also  have  to 
be  orderly  sergeant  and  color-bearer.  But  she  took  on 
herself  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  these  positions 
without  a  murmur.  She  wore  a  paper  hat  of  the  true 
Napoleonic  cut,  and  carried  in  one  hand  her  famous 
sword-gun,  and  the  colors  in  the  other.  The  oldest 
private  in  Nan's  company  was  nine;  the  youngest  was 
four,  and  had  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  keep  up  with 
the  rest.  The  uniforms  of  these  sun-seasoned  troops 
was  the  regulation  plantation  fatigue  dress — a  shirt 
coming  to  the  knees.  Two  or  three  of  the  smaller 
privates  had  evidently  fallen  victims  to  the  pot-liquor 

[26] 


KETTLEDRUM    AND    FIFE 

and  buttermilk  habits,  for  their  bellies  stuck  out  black 
and  glistening  from  rents  in  their  shirts. 

Their  accoutrements  prefigured  in  an  absurd  way 
the  resources  of  the  Confederacy  at  a  later  date.  They 
were  armed  with  broomsticks,  and  what-not.  The  file- 
leader  had  an  old  pair  of  tongs,  which  he  snapped 
viciously  when  Nan  gave  the  word  to  fire.  The  famous 
sword-gun,  with  which  Nan  did  such  execution,  had 
once  seen  service  as  an  umbrella  handle. 

One  afternoon,  as  Nan  was  drilling  her  troops,  she 
chanced  to  glance  down  the  road,  and  saw  a  waggon 
coming  along.  Deploying  her  company  across  the 
highway,  she  went  forward  in  person  to  reconnoitre. 
She  soon  discovered  that  the  waggon  was  driven  by 
Uncle  Plato.  Running  back  to  her  veterans,  she  placed 
herself  in  front  of  them,  and  calmly  awaited  events. 
Slowly  the  fat  horses  dragged  the  waggon  along,  when 
suddenly  Nan  cried  "  Halt !  "  whereupon  the  drummer, 
obeying  previous  instructions,  began  to  belabour  his 
tin-pan,  while  Nan  levelled  her  famous  sword-gun  at 
Uncle  Plato.  "  Bang !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  then,  "  Why 
didn't  you  fall  off  the  waggon  ?  "  she  cried,  as  Uncle 
Plato  remained  immovable.  "  Why,  you  don't  know 
any  more  about  real  war  than  a  baby,"  she  said  scorn 
fully. 

If  the  truth  must  be  told,  Uncle  Plato  had  been 
dozing,  and  when  he  awoke  he  viewed  the  scene  before 
him  with  astonishment.  There  was  no  need  to  cry 
"Halt!"  or  exclaim  "Bang!"  for  as  soon  as  the 
drummer  began  to  beat  his  tin-pan,  the  horses  stood 

[27  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

still  and  craned  their  necks  forward,  with  a  warning 
snort,  trying  to  see  what  this  strange  and  unnatural 
proceeding  meant.  Uncle  Plato  had  involuntarily  tight 
ened  the  reins  when  he  was  so  rudely  awakened,  and  the 
horses  took  this  for  a  hint  that  they  must  avoid  the 
danger,  and,  as  the  shortest  way  is  the  best  way,  they 
began  to  back,  and  had  the  waggon  nearly  turned 
around  before  Uncle  Plato  could  tell  them  a  different 
tale. 

"  Ef  I'd  'a'  fell  out'n  de  waggon,  honey,  who  gwine 
ter  pick  me  up  ?  "  he  asked,  laughing. 

"  Why,  no  one  is  picked  up  in  war !  " 

"  Is  dis  war,  honey?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is,"   Nan  declared. 

"  Does  bof  e  sides  haf ter  take  part  in  de  rucus  ?  " 
asked  Uncle  Plato,  making  a  terrible  face  at  the  little 
negroes. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Nan. 

Seeing  the  scowl,  Nan's  veteran  troops  began  to  edge 
slowly  toward  the  nearest  breach  in  the  fence.  Uncle 
Plato  seized  his  whip  and  pretended  to  be  clambering 
from  the  waggon.  At  this  a  panic  ensued,  and  Nan's 
army  dispersed  in  a  jiffy.  The  seasoned  troops  dropped 
their  arms  and  fled.  The  four-year-old  became  lost  or 
entangled  in  a  thick  growth  of  jimson  weed,  seeing 
which,  Uncle  Plato  cried  out  in  terrible  voice,  "  Ketch 
um  dar !  Fetch  um  here !  " 

Then  and  there  ensued  a  wild  scene  of  demoralisa 
tion  and  anarchy;  loud  shrieks  and  screams  filled  the 
air;  the  dogs  barked,  the  hens  cackled,  and  the  neigh- 

[28] 


KETTLEDRUM    AND    FIFE 

hours  began  to  put  their  heads  out  of  the  windows. 
Mrs.  Absalom,  who  had  charge  of  the  Dorrington  house 
hold,  and  who  had  raised  Nan  from  a  baby,  came  to 
the  door — the  defeat  of  the  troops  occurred  right  at 
Nan's  own  home — crying,  "  My  goodness  gracious !  has 
the  yeth  caved  in?"  Then,  seeing  the  waggon  cross 
wise  the  road,  and  mistaking  Nan's  shrieks  of  laughter 
for  cries  of  pain,  she  bolted  from  the  house  with  a 
white  face. 

Mrs.  Absalom's  reactions  from  her  daily  alarms  about 
Nan  usually  resulted  in  bringing  her  into  open  and 
direct  war  with  everybody  in  sight  or  hearing,  except 
the  child;  but  on  this  occasion,  her  fright  had  been  so 
serious  that  when  Nan,  somewhat  sobered,  ran  to  her 
the  good  woman  was  shaking. 

"  Why,  Nonny !  "  cried  Nan,  hugging  her,  "  you  are 
all  trembling." 

"  No  wonder,"  said  Mrs.  Absalom  in  a  subdued  voice ; 
"  I  saw  you  under  them  waggon  wheels  as  plain  as 
I  ever  saw  anything  in  my  life.  I'm  gittin'  old,  I 
reckon." 

And  yet  there  were  some  people  who  wondered  how 
Nan  could  endure  such  a  foster-mother  as  Mrs.  Absalom. 

But  the  complete  rout  of  Nan's  army  made  no  change 
in  the  general  complexion  of  affairs.  The  Shady  Dale 
Scouts  continued  to  perfect  themselves  in  the  tactics  of 
war,  and  after  awhile,  when  the  great  controversy  be 
gan  to  warm  up — the  children  paid  no  attention  to  the 
passage  of  time — the  company  went  into  camp.  This 
was  a  great  hour  for  the  youngsters.  Here  at  last  was 

[29] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

something  real  and  tangible.  The  marching  and  the 
countermarching  through  the  streets  and  in  the  old  field 
were  very  well  in  their  way,  but  Nan  and  Gabriel  and 
the  rest  had  grown  used  to  these  manoeuvres,  and  they 
longed  for  something  new.  This  was  furnished  by  the 
camp,  with  its  white  tents,  and  the  grim  sentinels  pacing 
up  and  down  with  fixed  bayonets.  No  one,  not  even  an 
officer,  could  pass  the  sentinels  without  giving  the  pass 
word,  or  calling  for  the  officer  of  the  guard. 

All  this,  from  the  children's  point  of  view,  was  gen 
uine  war;  but  to  the  members  of  the  company  it  was  a 
veritable  picnic.  The  citizens  of  the  town,  especially 
the  ladies,  sent  out  waggon  loads  of  food  every  day — 
boiled  ham,  barbecued  shote,  chicken  pies,  and  cake; 
yes,  and  pickles.  Nan  declared  she  didn't  know  there 
were  as  many  pickles  in  the  world,  as  she  saw  unloaded 
at  the  camp. 

Mr.  Goodlett,  who  was  Mrs.  Absalom's  husband,  went 
out  to  the  camp,  looked  it  over  with  the  eye  of  an  ex 
pert,  and  turned  away  with  a  groan.  This  citizen  had 
served  both  in  the  Mexican  and  the  Florida  wars,  and 
he  knew  that  these  gallant  young  men  would  have  a 
rude  awakening,  when  it  came  to  the  real  tug  of  war. 

"Doesn't  it  look  like  war,  Mr.  Ab?  "  Nan  asked, 
running  after  the  veteran. 

Mr.  Goodlett  looked  at  the  bright  face  lifted  up  to 
his,  and  frowned,  though  a  smile  of  pity  showed  itself 
around  his  grizzled  mouth.  He  was  a  very  deliberate 
man,  and  he  hesitated  before  he  spoke.  "  You  think 
that  looks  like  war?"  he  asked. 

[  30] 


KETTLEDRUM    AND    FIFE 

"  Why,  of  course.  Isn't  that  the  way  they  do  when 
there's  a  war?  " 

"What!  gormandise,  an'  set  in  the  shade?  Why,  it 
ain't  no  more  like  war  than  sparrergrass  is  like  jimson 
weed — not  one  ioter."  With  that,  he  sighed  and  went 
on  his  way. 

But  when  did  the  precepts  of  age  and  experience 
ever  succeed  in  chilling  the  enthusiasm  of  youth?  With 
the  children,  it  was  "  O  to  be  a  soldier  boy !  "  and  Nan 
and  her  companions  continued  to  linger  around  the  edges 
of  the  spectacle,  taking  it  all  in,  and  enjoying  every 
moment.  And  the  Scouts  themselves  continued  to  live 
like  lords,  eating  and  drilling,  and  dozing  during  the 
day,  and  at  night  dancing  to  the  sweet  music  of  Flavian 
Dion's  violin.  Nan  and  Gabriel  thought  it  was  fine, 
and,  as  well  as  can  be  remembered,  Cephas  was  of  the 
same  opinion.  As  for  Tasma  Tid,  she  thought  that 
the  fife  and  drums,  and  the  general  glare  and  glitter 
of  the  affair  were  simply  grand,  very  much  nicer  than 
war  in  her  country,  where  the  Arab  slave-traders  crept 
up  in  the  night  and  seized  all  who  failed  to  escape  in 
the  forest,  killing  right  and  left  for  the  mere  love  of 
killing.  Compared  with  the  jungle  war,  this  pageant 
was  something  to  be  admired. 

And  many  of  the  older  citizens  held  views  not  very 
different  from  those  of  the  children,  for  enthusiasm  ran 
high.  The  Shady  Dale  Scouts  wrent  away  arrayed  in 
their  holiday  uniforms.  Many  of  them  never  returned 
to  their  homes  again,  but  those  that  did  were  arrayed 
in  rags  and  tatters.  Their  gallantry  was  such  that 

[31  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

the  Shady  Dale  Scouts,  disguised  as  Company  B,  were 
always  at  the  head  of  their  regiment  when  trouble  was 
on  hand.  But  all  this  is  to  anticipate. 


[32] 


CHAPTER   TWO 


A  Town  with  a  History 

.BEFORE,  during,  and  after  the  war,  Shady  Dale  pre 
sented  always  the  same  aspect  of  serene  repose.  It  was, 
as  you  may  say,  a  town  with  a  history.  Then,  as  now, 
there  were  towns  all  about  that  had  no  such  fortunate 
appendage  behind  them  to  explain  their  origin.  No 
one  could  tell  what  they  were  begun  for;  no  one  could 
say  whether  they  had  for  their  nucleus  an  old  field  or 
a  cross-roads  grocery,  or  whether  a  party  of  immigrants 
pitched  their  tents  there  because  the  grass  was  fine  and 
the  water  abundant.  There  is  one  city  in  Georgia,  and 
it  is  the  most  prosperous  of  all,  that  was  built  on  the 
idea  that  the  cattle-paths  and  the  old  government  roads 
afford  the  most  convenient  and  picturesque  contours  for 
the  streets;  and  to  this  day,  the  thoroughfares  of  that 
city  afford  a  most  interesting  study  to  those  who  are 
interested  in  either  topography  or  human  nature;  for 
it  is  possible  to  go  to  that  city,  and,  with  half  an  eye, 
discover  the  places  where  the  waggons  and  other  vehicles 
turned  aside  nearly  a  hundred  years  ago  to  avoid  the 
mudholes,  the  fallen  trees,  and  other  temporary  obstruc 
tions.  They  have  been  preserved  in  the  conformation 
of  the  streets. 

[33] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Shady  Dale  is  no  city,  and  it  may  be  that  its  public- 
spirited  citizens  stretch  the  meaning  of  the  term  when 
they  call  it  a  town.  Nevertheless,  the  community  has 
a  well-defined  history.  When  Raleigh  Clopton,  shortly 
after  the  signing  of  the  treaty  of  peace  between  the 
United  States  and  Great  Britain,  crossed  the  Oconee, 
and  settled  on  the  lands  of  the  hostile  Creeks,  his  friends 
declared  that  he  was  tempting  Providence ;  and  so  it 
seemed ;  but  the  event  proved  that  from  first  to  last,  his 
adventure  was  under  the  direct  guidance  of  Providence. 
He  demonstrated  anew  the  truth  of  two  ancient  maxims : 
he  who  risks  nothing,  gains  nothing ;  heaven  helps  those 
who  help  themselves.  Raleigh  Clopton  risked  every 
thing  and  gained  the  most  beautiful  domain  in  all  the 
land.  He  had,  indeed,  one  stormy  interview  with  Gen 
eral  McGillivray,  the  great  Creek  chief  and  statesman, 
but  after  that  all  was  peace  and  prosperity. 

General  McGillivray  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men  of  his  time,  and  his  time  was  during  an  era  of 
remarkable  men.  He  possessed  a  genius  that  enabled 
him  to  cope  successfully  with  the  ablest  statesmen  of 
his  day.  He  drew  Washington  into  a  secret  treaty 
with  the  Creek  Nation,  and  when  McGillivray  died,  the 
Father  of  his  country  referred  to  him  as  "  my  friend," 
and  deplored  his  taking  off.  Courageous  and  adven 
turous  himself,  McGillivray  was  no  doubt  attracted  by 
the  attitude  and  personality  of  the  fearless  Virginian. 
He  became  the  warm  friend  of  Raleigh  Clopton,  and 
marked  that  friendship  by  deeding  to  the  first  white 
settler  two  thousand  acres  of  land  lying  between  the 


A    TOWN    WITH    A    HISTORY 

Little  River  hills  on  one  side,  and  the  meadows  of 
Murder  Creek  on  the  other.  Moreover,  he  named  the 
estate  Shady  Dale,  and  aided  Raleigh  Clopton  to  es 
tablish  a  trading-post  where  the  court-house  of  the 
town  now  stands;  and  on  a  pine  near  by,  he  caused  to 
be  made  the  semblance  of  a  broken  arrow,  a  token  that 
between  the  Creeks  and  the  Master  of  Shady  Dale  a 
lasting  peace  had  been  established. 

This  was  the  beginning.  When  the  multifarious  and 
long-disputed  treaties  between  the  United  States  and 
the  Creek  Nation  had  been  signed,  and  a  general  peace 
was  assured,  Raleigh  Clopton  communicated  with  his 
friends  in  Wilkes,  Burke,  Columbia  and  Richmond 
counties — the  choice  spirits  who  had  fought  by  his  side 
in  the  bloodiest  battles  of  the  War  for  Independence — 
informed  them  of  his  good  fortune,  and  invited  them 
to  share  it.  The  response  was  all  that  he  could  have 
desired.  His  old  friends  and  comrades  lost  no  time 
in  joining  him — the  Dorringtons,  the  Tomlins,  the 
Gaithcrs,  the  Awtrys,  the  Terrells,  the  Odoms,  the 
Lumsdens,  and,  later,  the  friends  and  relatives  of  these. 
For  the  most  part  they  were  men  of  substance  and 
character. 

Well,  perhaps  not  all.  There  are  black  sheep  in 
every  flock,  and  wherever  the  nature  of  Adam  survives, 
there  we  may  behold  wisdom  and  folly  dancing  to  the 
same  tune,  and  sin  and  repentance  occupying  the  same 
couch.  So  it  has  been  from  the  first,  and  so  it  will  be 
to  the  end.  But,  take  them  all  in  all,  making  due 
allowance  for  the  tendencies  of  human  nature,  the  men 

[  35] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

and  women  who  responded  to  the  invitation  of  Raleigh 
Clopton  may  be  described  as  the  salt  of  the  earth. 
They  had  all,  women  and  men,  been  subjected  to  the 
trials  and  hardships  of  a  war  in  which  no  quarter  was 
asked  or  given;  and  their  experiences  had  given  them 
a  strength  of  character,  and  a  versatility  in  dealing 
with  unexpected  events,  that  could  hardly  be  matched 
elsewhere.  To  each  of  those  who  responded  to  his 
invitation,  Raleigh  Clopton  gave  a  part  of  his  domain, 
and  laid  out  their  settlement  for  them. 

This  was  the  origin  of  Shady  Dale.  But  to  set  forth 
its  origin  is  not  to  describe  its  beauty,  which  is  of  a 
character  that  refuses  to  submit  to  description.  You 
go  down  to  the  old  town  from  the  city,  and  you  say 
to  yourself  and  your  friends  that  you  are  enjoying  the 
delights  of  the  country.  You  visit  it  from  the  planta 
tions,  and  you  feel  that  you  are  breathing  the  kind  of 
atmosphere  that  should  be  found  in  the  social  life  of 
a  large,  refined  and  perfectly  homogeneous  community. 
But  whether  you  go  there  from  the  city,  or  from  the 
plantations,  you  are  inevitably  impressed  with  a  sense 
of  the  attractiveness  of  the  place;  you  fall  under  the 
spell  of  the  old  town — it  was  old  even  in  the  old  times 
of  the  sixties.  And  yet  if  you  were  called  upon  to 
define  the  nature  of  the  spell,  what  could  you  say? 
What  name  could  you  give  to  the  tremulous  beauty 
that  hovers  about  and  around  the  place,  when  the  fresh 
green  leaves  of  the  great  trees  are  fluttering  in  the  cool 
wind,  and  everything  is  touched  and  illumined  by  the 
tender  colours  of  spring?  Under  what  heading  in  the 

[  36] 


A    TOWN    WITH    A    HISTORY 

catalogue  of  things  would  you  place  the  vivid  richness 
which  animates  the  town  and  the  landscape  all  around 
when  the  summer  is  at  its  height?  And  how  could  you 
describe  the  harmony  that  time  has  brought  about  be 
tween  the  fine  old  houses  and  the  setting  in  which  they 
are  grouped? 

All  these  things  are  elusive;  they  make  themselves 
keenly  felt,  but  they  do  not  lend  themselves  to  analysis. 

It  is  a  pity  that  those  who  are  interested  in  tradi-v 
tions  that  are  truer  than  history  could  not  have  all  the 
facts  in  regard  to  Shady  Dale  from  the  lips  of  Mr. 
Obadiah  Tutwiler,  who  had  constituted  himself  the  oral 
historian  of  the  community.  Mr.  Tutwiler  was  alive  as 
late  as  1869,  and  had  at  his  fingers'-ends  all  the  essen 
tial  facts  relating  to  the  origin  and  growth  of  the 
town,  and  he  related  the  story  with  a  fluency,  an  ac 
curacy,  and  a  relish  quite  surprising  in  so  old  a  man. 

As  was  fitting,  the  old  court-house,  the  temple  of 
justice,  had  been  reared  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  and 
the  square  that  surrounds  it  took  the  shape  of  a  park 
of  considerable  dimensions.  On  two  sides  were  some  of 
the  more  pretentious  dwellings;  the  tavern,  with  a  few 
of  the  more  modest  houses  took  up  a  t'hird  side;  while 
the  fourth  side  was  taken  up  by  the  shops  and  stores; 
and  so  careful  had  the  early  settlers  been  with  the 
trees,  that  it  was  possible  to  stand  in  a  certain  upper 
window  of  the  court-house,  and  look  out  upon  the  town 
with  not  a  house  in  sight. 

Naturally,  the  most  interesting  feature  of  Shady 
Dale  was  the  Clopton  Place.  It  had  been  the  home  of 

[37]       • 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

the  First  Settler,  and  in  1860,  when  Nan  and  Gabriel 
were  enjoying  their  happiest  days,  it  was  owned  and 
occupied  by  the  son,  Meriwether  Clopton. 

From  the  time  of  the  First  Settler,  the  Clopton  Place 
had  been  dedicated  and  set  apart  to  the  uses  of  hospi 
tality.  The  deed  in  which  General  McGillivray,  in  the 
name  of  the  Creek  Nation,  conveyed  the  domain  to 
Raleigh  Clopton,  distinctly  sets  forth  the  condition  that 
the  Clopton  Place  was  to  be  an  asylum  and  a  place  of 
refuge  for  the  unfortunate  and  for  those  who  needed 
succour.  During  the  long  and  bloody  contests  between 
the  white  settlers  and  the  Creeks,  it  was  the  pleasure 
of  the  Creek  chief  to  pay  out  of  his  own  private  for 
tune,  which  was  a  large  one  for  those  days,  the  ransoms 
which,  under  the  rules  of  the  tribal  organisations,  each 
Indian  town  demanded  for  the  prisoners  captured  by 
its  warriors.  Such  was  the  poverty  of  the  whites  in 
general  that  only  occasionally  was  General  McGillivray 
reimbursed  for  his  expenditures  in  this  direction. 

But  no  matter  by  whom  the  ransoms  were  paid,  the 
prisoners  were  one  and  all  forwarded  to  the  Clopton 
Place,  where  they  were  cared  for  until  such  time  as  they 
could  be  transferred  to  the  white  settlements.  In  this 
way  hospitality  became  a  habit  at  the  Place,  and  in  the 
years  that  followed,  no  wayfarer  was  ever  turned  away 
from  those  wide  doors. 

In  the  pleasant  weather,  it  was  a  familiar  spectacle 
to  see  Meriwether  Clopton  sitting  on  the  wide  lawn, 
reading  Virgil  and  Horace,  two  volumes  of  which  he 
never  tired.  His  favourite  scat  was  in  the  shade  of  a 

[38  ] 


A    TOWN    WITH    A    HISTORY 

silver  maple,  through  the  branches  of  which  a  grape 
vine  had  been  trained.  This  silver  maple,  with  the  vine 
running  through  it,  and  the  seat  in  the  shade,  were  a 
realisation,  he  once  told  Gabriel  and  Cephas,  of  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  poems  in  one  of  the  volumes,  but 
whether  Virgil  or  Horace,  the  aforesaid  Cephas  is  un 
able  to  remember. 

There  were  days  long  to  be  remembered  when  the 
Master  of  Clopton  Place  read  aloud  to  the  children, 
translating  as  he  went  along,  and  smacking  his  lips 
over  the  choice  of  words  as  though  he  were  tasting  a 
fine  quality  of  wine.  And  the  children  felt  the  charm 
of  these  ancient  verses;  and  they  soon  came  to  under 
stand  why  words  written  down  centuries  ago,  had  power 
to  take  possession  of  the  mind.  They  were  charged 
with  the  qualities  that  brought  them  home  to  the  modern 
hour ;  and  for  all  that  was  foreign  in  them,  they  might 
have  been  composed  at  Shady  Dale.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  the  common  people  in  the  Middle  Ages  clothed 
Virgil  with  the  gift  and  power  of  a  prophet  or  a 
magician. 

Something  of  the  charm  that  dwelt  all  about  the 
place  had  its  origin  and  centre  in  Meri wether  Clopton 
himself.  His  years  sat  lightly  upon  him.  He  had  led 
an  active  and  a  temperate  life,  and  a  hale  and  hearty 
old  age  was  the  fruit  thereof.  He  had  had  his  flings, 
and  something  more,  perhaps,  for  there  were  traditions 
of  some  very  serious  troubles  in  which  he  had  been 
engaged  shortly  after  reaching  his  majority.  But 
Gabriel's  grandmother,  who  knew — none  better — de- 

[89] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

clared  that  these  troubles  were  not  of  Meriwether  Clop- 
ton's  seeking.  They  were  the  results  of  a  legacy  of 
feuds  which  Raleigh  Clopton,  through  no  desire  of  his 
own,  had  left  to  his  son.  It  was  said  of  Raleigh  Clop- 
ton  that  his  sense  of  justice  was  as  strong  as  his 
temper,  which  was  a  stormy  one.  He  espoused  the 
cause  of  young  Eli  Whitney,  who  had  been  despoiled 
of  his  rights  in  the  cotton-gin  in  Georgia,  and  this  led 
him  into  a  series  of  difficulties  without  parallel  in  the 
history  of  the  State.  Raleigh  Clopton's  attitude  in  this 
contest  brought  him  in  conflict  with  some  of  the  most 
powerful  men  and  interests  in  the  commonwealth.  It 
was  a  contest  in  which  knavery,  fraud  and  corruption, 
the  courts,  and  considerable  private  capital,  were  all 
combined  against  Whitney,  who  appeared  to  be  with 
out  a  strong  friend  until  Raleigh  Clopton  became  his 
champion. 

The  collusion  of  the  courts  with  this  high-handed 
robbery  was  so  ill-concealed  that  Raleigh  Clopton  soon 
discovered  the  fact,  and  his  indignation  rose  to  such  a 
white  heat  that  it  drove  him  to  excesses.  He  dragged 
one  judge  from  a  buggy,  and  plied  him  with  a  raw 
hide,  he  slapped  the  face  of  another  in  a  public  house, 
and  posted  a  dozen  prominent  men  as  thieves  and  cor- 
ruptionists,  with  the  result  that  the  State  fairly  swarmed 
with  his  enemies,  men  who  were  able  to  keep  him  busy 
in  the  way  of  troubles  and  difficulties.  It  was  the  day 
of  private  feuds,  and  it  was  not  surprising  that  some 
of  these  enemies  should  attack  the  father  through  the 
son.  Thus  it  fell  out  that  Meriwether  Clopton's  ex- 

[40] 


A    TOWN    WITH    A    HISTORY 

perience  for  half  a  score  of  years  after  he  came  of  age 
was  anything  but  peaceful.  But  he  came  out  of  all 
these  difficulties  with  head  erect,  clean  hands  and  a 
clear  conscience.  He  was  neither  hardened  nor  embit 
tered  by  the  violence  with  which  he  had  to  deal.  On 
the  contrary,  his  character  was  strengthened  and  his 
temper  sweetened;  so  that  when  the  lads  who  listened 
to  his  mellifluous  translations  from  the  Latin  poets, 
were  old  enough  to  appreciate  the  qualities  that  go  to 
make  up  a  good  man  and  an  influential  citizen,  the 
fact  dawned  upon  their  minds  that  Meriwether  Clopton 
was  the  finest  gentleman  they  had  ever  seen. 


CHAPTER   THREE 


The  Return  of  Two  Warriors 

ff  HEN  the  great  contest  began,  Nan  was  close  to  thir 
teen,  and  Gabriel  was  fourteen.  Cephas  was  younger; 
he  had  lived  hardly  as  many  months  as  he  had  freckles 
on  his  face,  otherwise  he  would  have  been  an  aged  citi 
zen.  They  wandered  about  together,  always  accom 
panied  by  Tasma  Tid,  all  of  them  being  children  in 
every  sense  of  the  word.  Occasionally  they  were  joined 
by  some  of  the  other  boys  and  girls ;  but  they  were 
always  happier  when  they  were  left  to  themselves. 

In  the  late  afternoons  they  could  always  be  found 
in  the  Bermuda  fields,  but  at  other  times,  especially  on 
a  warm  day,  their  favourite  playground  was  under  the 
wide-spreading  elms  in  front  of  the  post-office.  Amus 
ing  themselves  there  in  the  fine  weather,  they  could  see 
the  people  come  and  go,  many  of  them  looking  for 
letters  that  never  came.  When  the  conflict  at  the  front 
became  warm  and  serious,  and  when  the  very  news 
papers,  as  Mrs.  Absalom  said,  smelt  of  blood,  there  was 
always  a  large  crowd  of  men,  old  and  young,  gathered 
at  the  post-office  when  the  mail-coach  came  from  Mal- 
vern.  As  few  of  the  people  subscribed  for  a  daily 
newspaper,  Judge  Odom  (he  was  Judge  of  the  Inferior 


RETURN     OF    TWO    WARRIORS 

Court,  now  called  the  Court  of  Ordinary)  took  upon 
himself  to  mount  a  chair  or  a  dry-goods  box,  and  read 
aloud  the  despatches  printed  in  the  Malvern  Recorder. 
This  enterprising  journal  had  a  number  of  volunteer 
correspondents  at  the  front  who  made  it  a  point  to  send 
with  their  letters  the  lists  of  the  killed  and  wounded  in 
the  various  Georgia  regiments;  and  these  lists  grew 
ominously  long  as  the  days  went  by. 

And  then,  in  the  course  of  time,  came  the  collapse 
of  the  Confederacy,  an  event  that  blew  away  with  a 
breath,  as  it  were,  the  hopes  and  dreams  of  those  who 
had  undertaken  to  build  a  new  government  in  the 
South ;  and  this  march  of  time  brought  about  a  gradual 
change  in  the  relations  between  Nan  and  Gabriel.  It 
was  almost  as  imperceptible  in  its  growth  as  the  move 
ment  of  the  shadow  on  the  sun-dial.  Somehow,  and  to 
her  great  disgust,  Nan  awoke  one  morning  and  was 
told  that  she  was  a  young  woman,  or  dreamt  that  she 
was  told.  Anyhow,  she  realised,  all  of  a  sudden,  that 
she  was  now  too  tall  for  short  dresses,  and  too  old  to 
be  playing  with  the  boys  as  if  she  were  one  of  them ; 
and  the  consciousness  of  this  change  gave  her  many  a 
bad  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  sometimes  made  her  a  trifle 
irritable ;  for,  sweet  as  she  was,  she  had  a  temper. 

She  asked  herself  a  thousand  times  why  she  should 
now  begin  to  feel  shy  of  Gabriel,  and  why  she  should 
be  so  self-conscious,  she  who  had  never  thought  of  her 
self  with  any  degree  of  seriousness  until  now.  It  was 
all  a  puzzle  to  her.  As  it  was  with  Nan,  so  it  was 
with  Gabriel.  As  Nan  grew  shy  and  shyer,  so  the 

[43] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

newly-awakened  Gabriel  grew  more  and  more  and  more 
timid,  and  the  two  soon  found  themselves  very  far  apart 
without  knowing  why.  For  a  long  time  Cephas  was 
the  only  connecting  link  between  them.  He  was  a  sly 
*  little  rascal,  this  same  Cephas,  and  he  found  in  the  sit 
uation  food  for  both  curiosity  and  amusement.  He  had 
not  the  least  notion  why  the  two  friends  and  comrades 
were  inclined  to  avoid  each  other.  He  only  knew  that 
he  was  not  having  as  pleasant  a  time  as  fell  to  his 
portion  when  they  were  all  going  about  together  with 
no  serious  notions  of  life  or  conduct. 

Cephas  got  no  satisfaction  from  either  Nan  or  Gabriel 
when  he  asked  them  what  the  trouble  was.  Nan  tried 
to  explain  matters,  but  her  explanation  was  a  very  lame 
one.  "  I  am  getting  old  enough  to  be  serious,  Cephas ; 
and  I  must  begin  to  ma^ke  myself  useful.  That's  what 
Miss  Polly  Gaither  says,  and  she's  old  enough  to  know. 
Oh,  I  hate  it  all !  "  said  Nan. 

"Is  Miss  Polly  Gaither  useful?"  inquired  Cephas. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  Nan ;  "  but  that's 
what  she  told  me,  and  then  she  held  up  her  ear-trumpet 
for  me  to  talk  in  it;  but  I  just  couldn't,  she  looked  so 
very  much  in  earnest.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep 
from  laughing.  Did  you  ever  notice,  Cephas,  how 
funny  people  are  when  they  are  really  in  earnest?  " 

Alas!  Cephas  had  often  pinched  himself  in  Sunday- 
school  to  keep  from  laughing  at  old  Mrs.  Crafton,  his 
teacher.  She  was  so  dreadfully  in  earnest  that  she  kept 
her  face  in  a  pucker  the  whole  time.  Outside  of  the 
Sunday-school  she  was  a  very  pleasant  old  lady. 

[44] 


RETURN     OF    TWO    WARRIORS 

Gabriel  had  no  explanation  to  make  whatever.  He 
simply  told  Cephas  that  Nan  was  becoming  vain.  This 
Cephas  denied  with  great  emphasis,  but  Gabriel  only 
shook  his  head  and  looked  wise,  as  much  as  to  say  that 
he  knew  what  he  knew,  and  would  continue  to  know  it 
for  some  time  to  come.  The  truth  is,  however,  that 
Gabriel  was  as  ignorant  of  the  feminine  nature  as  it  is 
possible  for  a  young  fellow  to  be;  whereas,  Nan,  by 
means  of  the  instinct  or  intuition  which  heaven  has 
conferred  on  her  sex  for  their  protection,  knew  Gabriel 
a  great  deal  better  than  she  knew  herself. 

When  the  war  came  to  a  close,  Gabriel  was  nearly 
eighteen,  and  Nan  was  seventeen,  though  she  appeared 
to  be  a  year  or  two  younger.  She  was  still  childish  in 
her  ways  and  tastes,  and  carried  with  her  an  atmos 
phere  of  simplicity  and  sweetness  in  which  very  few 
girls  of  her  age  are  fortunate  enough  to  move.  Sim 
plicity  was  a  part  of  her  nature,  though  some  of  her 
young  lady  friends  used  to  whisper  to  one  another  that 
it  was  all  assumed.  She  was  even  referred  to  as  Miss 
Prissy,  a  term  that  was  probably  intended  to  be  an 
abbreviation  of  Priscilla. 

Regularly,  she  used  to  hunt  Cephas  up  and  carry  Jhim 
home  with  her  for  the  afternoon ;  and  on  the  other  hand, 
Gabriel  manifested  a  great  fondness  for  the  little  fellow, 
who  enjoyed  his  enviable  popularity  with  a  clear  con 
science.  It  was  years  and  years  afterwards  before  the 
secret  of  his  popularity  dawned  on  him.  If  he  had 
suspected  it  at  the  time,  his  pride,  such  as  he  had,  would 
have  had  a  terrible  fall. 

[45] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

One  day,  it  was  the  year  of  Appomattox,  and  the 
month  was  June,  Cephas  heard  his  name  called,  and 
answered  very  promptly,  for  the  voice  was  the  voice  of 
Gabriel,  and  it  was  burdened  with  an  invitation  to  visit 
the  woods  and  fields  that  surrounded  the  town.  The 
weather  itself  was  burdened  with  the  same  invitation. 
The  birds  sang  it,  and  it  rustled  in  the  leaves  of  the 
trees.  And  Cephas  leaped  from  the  house,  glad  of  any 
excuse  to  escape  from  the  domestic  task  at  which  he  had 
been  set.  They  wandered  forth,  and  became  a  part  and 
parcel  of  the  wild  things.  The  hermit  thrush,  with  his 
silver  bell,  was  their  brother,  and  the  cat-bird,  distressed 
for  the  safety  of  her  young,  was  their  sister.  Yea, 
and  the  gray  squirrel  was  their  playmate,  a  shy  one, 
it  is  true,  but  none  the  less  a  genuine  one  for  all  that. 
They  roamed  about  the  green-wood,  and  over  the  hills 
and  fields,  and  finally  found  themselves  in  the  public 
highway  that  leads  to  Malvern. 

Cephas  found  a  cornstalk,  and  with  hardly  an  effort 
of  his  mind,  changed  it  into  a  fine  saddle-horse.  The 
contagion  seized  Gabriel,  and  though  he  was  close  upon 
his  eighteenth  birthday,  he  secured  a  cornstalk,  which 
at  once  became  a  saddle-horse  at  his  bidding.  The 
magical  powers  of  youth  are  wonderful,  and  for  a  little 
while  the  cornstalk  horses  were  as  real  as  any  horses 
could  be.  The  steed  that  Cephas  bestrode  was  com 
paratively  gentle,  but  Gabriel's  horse  developed  a  desire 
to  take  fright  at  everything  he  saw.  A  creature  more 
skittish  and  nervous  was  never  seen,  and  his  example 
was  soon  followed  by  the  steed  that  Cephas  rode.  The 


RETURN     OF    TWO    WARRIORS 

two  boys  were  so  busily  engaged  in  trying  to  control 
their  perverse  horses,  that  they  failed  to  see  a  big 
covered  waggon  that  came  creeping  up  the  hill  behind 
them.  So,  while  they  were  cutting  up  their  queer 
capers,  the  big  waggon,  drawn  by  two  large  mules,  was 
plump  upon  them.  As  for  Cephas,  he  didn't  care,  be 
ing  at  an  age  when  such  capers  are  permissible,  but 
Gabriel  blushed  when  he  discovered  that  his  childish 
pranks  had  witnesses;  and  he  turned  a  shade  redder 
when  he  saw  that  the  occupants  of  the  waggon  were, 
of  all  the  persons  in  the  world,  Mr.  Billy  Sanders  and 
Francis  Bethune. 

Both  of  the  boys  would  have  passed  on  but  for  the 
compelling  voice  of  Mr.  Sanders.  "  Why,  it's  little 
Gabc,  and  he's  little  Gabe  no  longer.  And  Cephas  ain't 
growed  a  mite.  Hello,  Gabe !  Hello,  Cephas !  Howdy, 
howdy?" 

Francis  Bethune's  salutation  was  somewhat  con 
strained,  or  if  that  be  too  large  a  word,  was  lacking 
in  cordiality.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  Gabriel?  "  he 
asked. 

"  It's  a  thousand  pities,  Frank,"  remarked  Mr.  San 
ders,  "  that  Sarah  Clopton  wouldn't  let  you  be  a  boy 
along  with  the  other  boys;  but  she  coddled  you  up  jest 
like  you  was  a  gal.  Be  jigged  ef  I  don't  believe  you've 
got  on  pantalettes  right  now." 

Bethune  blushed  hotly,  while  Gabriel  and  Cephas 
fairly  yelled  with  laughter — and  there  was  a  little  re 
sentment  in  Gabriel's  mirth.  "  But  I  don't  see  what 
could  possess  Tolliver,"  Bethune  insisted. 

[47] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Shucks,  Frank !  you  wouldn't  know  ef  he  was  to 
write  it  down  for  you,  an'  Nan  Dorrin'ton  would  know 
wi'out  any  tellin'.  You  ain't  a  bit  brighter  about 
sech  matters  than  you  was  the  day  Nan  give  you  a 
thumpin'." 

At  this  Gabriel  laughed  again,  for  he  had  been  an 
eye-witness  to  the  episode  to  which  Mr.  Sanders  referred. 
A  boy  has  his  prejudices,  as  older  persons  have  theirs. 
Bethune  had  always  had  the  appearance  of  being  too 
fond  of  himself;  when  other  boys  of  his  age  were  play 
ing  and  pranking,  he  would  be  primping,  and  in  the 
afternoon,  before  he  went  off  to  the  war,  he  would 
strut  around  town  in  the  uniform  of  a  cadet,  and 
seemed  to  think  himself  better  than  any  one  else.  These 
things  count  with  boys  as  much  as  they  do  with  older 
persons. 

"  Climb  in  the  waggin,  Gabe  an'  Cephas,  an'  tell  us 
about  ever' thing  an'  ever'body.  The  Yanks  didn't  take 
the  town  off,  did  they?" 

The  boys  accepted  the  invitation  without  further 
pressing,  for  they  were  both  fond  of  Mr.  Sanders,  and 
proceeded  to  give  their  old  friend  all  the  information 
he  desired.  Francis  Bethune  asked  no  questions,  and 
Gabriel  was  very  glad  of  it.  At  bottom,  Bethune  was 
a  very  clever  fellow,  but  the  boys  are  apt  to  make  up 
their  judgments  from  what  is  merely  superficial.  Fran 
cis  had  a  ver}'  handsome  face,  and  he  could  have  made 
himself  attractive  to  a  youngster  on  the  lookout  for 
friends,  but  he  had  chosen  a  different  line  of  conduct, 
and  as  a  result,  Gabriel  had  several  scores  against  the 

[48  ] 


RETURN     OF    TWO    WARRIORS 

young  man.  And  so  had  Cephas;  for,  on  one  occasion, 
the  latter  had  gone  to  the  Clopton  Place  for  some  wine 
for  his  mother,  who  was  something  of  an  invalid,  and, 
coming  suddenly  on  Sarah  Clopton,  found  her  in  tears. 
Cephas  never  had  a  greater  shock  than  the  sight  gave 
him,  for  he  had  never  connected  this  self-contained, 
gray-haired  woman  with  any  of  the  tenderer  emotions. 
In  the  child's  mind,  she  was  simply  a  sort  of  super 
intendent  of  affairs  on  the  Clopton  Place,  who,  in 
the  early  mornings,  stood  on  the  back  porch  of  the 
big  house,  and,  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
a  considerable  distance,  gave  orders  to  the  domes 
tics,  and  allotted  to  the  field  hands  their  tasks  for 
the  day. 

Sarah  Clopton  must  have  seen  how  shocked  the  child 
was,  for  she  dried  her  eyes  and  tried  to  laugh,  saying, 
"  You  never  expected  to  see  me  crying,  did  you,  little 
boy  ?  "  Cephas  had  no  answer  for  this,  but  when  she 
asked  if  he  could  guess  why  she  was  crying,  the  child 
remembered  what  he  had  heard  Nan  and  Gabriel  say, 
and  he  gave  an  answer  that  was  both  prompt  and  blunt. 
"  I  reckon  Frank  Bethune  has  been  making  a  fool  of 
himself  again,"  said  he. 

"  But  how  did  you  know,  child  ?  "  she  asked,  placing 
her  soft  white  fingers  under  his  chin,  and  lifting  his 
face  toward  the  light.  "  You  are  a  wise  lad  for  your 
years,"  she  said,  when  he  made  no  reply,  "  and  I  am 
sure  you  are  sensible  enough  to  do  me  a  favour.  Please 
say  nothing  about  what  you  have  seen.  An  old  woman's . 
tears  amount  to  very  little.  And  don't  be  too  hard  on 

[49] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Frank.      He    has    simply    been    playing    some    college 
prank,  and  they  are  sending  him  home." 

The  most  interesting  piece  of  news  that  Gabriel  had 
in  his  budget  related  to  the  hanging  of  Mr.  Absalom 
Goodlett  by  some  of  Sherman's  men,  when  that  com 
mander  came  marching  through  Georgia.  It  seems  that 
a  negro  had  told  the  men  that  Mr.  Goodlett  knew  where 
the  Clopton  silver  had  been  concealed,  and  they  took 
him  in  hand  and  tried  to  frighten  him  into  giving  them 
information  which  he  did  not  possess.  Threats  failing, 
they  secured  a  rope  and  strung  him  up  to  a  tree.  They 
strung  him  up  three  times,  and  the  third  time,  they 
went  off  and  left  him  hanging;  and  but  for  the 
promptness  of  the  negro  who  was  the  cause  of  the 
trouble,  and  who  had  been  an  interested  spectator  of 
the  proceedings,  Mr.  Goodlett  would  never  have  opened 
his  eyes  on  the  affairs  of  this  world  again.  The  negro 
cut  him  down  in  the  nick  of  time,  and  as  soon  as  he 
recovered,  he  sent  the  darkey  with  instructions  to  go 
after  the  men,  and  tell  them  where  they  could  find  the 
plate,  indicating  an  isolated  spot.  Whereupon  Mr. 
Goodlett  took  his  gun,  and  went  to  the  point  indicated. 
The  negro  carried  out  his  instructions  to  the  letter.  He 
found  the  men,  who  had  not  gone  far,  pointed  out  the 
spot  from  a  safe  distance,  and  then  waited  to  see  what 
would  happen.  If  he  saw  anything  unusual,  he  never 
told  of  it;  but  the  men  were  never  seen  again.  Some 
of  their  companions  returned  to  search  for  them,  but 
the  search  was  a  futile  one.  The  negro  went  about 
with  a  frightened  face  for  several  days,  and  then  he 

[  50] 


RETURN     OF    TWO    WARRIORS 

settled  down  to  work  for  Mr.  Goodlett,  in  whom  he 
seemed  to  have  a  strange  interest.  He  showed  this  in 
every  way. 

"  You  keep  yo'  eye  on  'im,"  he  used  to  say  to  his 
coloured  acquaintances,  in  speaking  of  Mr.  Goodlett; 
"  keep  yo'  eye  on  'im,  an'  when  you  see  his  under- jaw 
stickin'  out,  des  turn  you'  back,  an'  put  yo'  fingers  in 
yo'  ears." 

"  You  never  know,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  in  comment 
ing  on  the  story,  "  what  a  man  will  do  ontell  he  gits 
rank  pizen  mad,  or  starvin'  hongry,  or  in  love." 

"  What  would  you  do,  Mr.  Sanders,  if  you  were  in 
love  ?  "  Gabriel  asked  innocently  enough. 

"  Maybe  I'd  do  as  Frank  does,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders, 
smiling  blandly ;  "  shed  scaldin'  tears  one  minnit,  an' 
bite  my  finger-nails  the  next;  maybe  I  would,  but  I 
don't  believe  it." 

"  Now,  I'll  swear  you  ought  not  to  tell  these  boys 
such  stuff  as  that !  "  exclaimed  Francis  Bethune  angrily. 
"  I  don't  know  about  Cephas,  but  Tolliver  doesn't  like 
me  any  way." 

"How  do  you  know?"  inquired  Gabriel. 

"  Because  you  used  to  make  faces  at  me,"  replied 
Bethune,  half  laughing. 

"  Why,  so  did  Nan,"  Gabriel  rejoined.  "  Mine  must 
have  been  terrible  ones  for  you  to  remember  them  so 
well." 

The  reference  to  Nan  struck  Bethune,  and  he  began 
to  gnaw  at  the  end  of  his  thumb,  whereupon  Mr.  San 
ders  smiled  broadly.  The  young  man  reflected  a  mo- 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

ment,  and  then  remarked,  his  face  a  trifle  redder  than 
usual :  "  Isn't  the  young  lady  old  enough  for  you  to 
call  her  Miss  Dorrington?  " 

"  She  is,"  replied  Gabriel ;  "  but  if  she  permits  me 
to  call  her  Nan,  why  should  any  one  else  object?  " 

There  was  no  answer  to  this,  but  presently  Bethune 
turned  to  Gabriel  and  said :  "  Why  do  you  dislike  me, 
Tolliver?" 

For  a  little  time  the  lad  was  silent;  he  was  trying 
to  formulate  his  prejudices  into  something  substantial 
and  sufficient,  but  the  effort  was  a  futile  one.  While 
he  was  silent,  Bethune  regarded  him  with  a  curious 
stare.  "  Honestly,"  said  Gabriel,  •"  I  can  give  no  rea 
son;  and  I'm  not  sure  I  dislike  you.  But  you  always 
held  your  head  so  high  that  I  kept  away  from  you. 
I  had  an  idea  that  you  felt  yourself  above  me  because 
my  grandmother  is  not  as  rich  as  the  Cloptons." 

The  statement  seemed  to  amaze  Bethune.  "  You 
couldn't  have  been  more  than  ten  or  twelve  when  I  lef ' 
here  for  the  war,"  he  remarked. 

"  Yes,  I  was  more  than  thirteen,"  Gabriel  replied. 

"  Well,  I  never  thought  that  a  boy  so  young  could 
have  such  thoughts,"  Bethune  declared. 

"  Pooh !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanders ;  "  a  fourteen-year- 
old  boy  can  have  some  mighty  deep  thoughts,  specially 
ef  he'  been  brung  up  in  a  house  full  of  books,  as 
Gabriel  was.  I  hope,  Gabriel,"  he  went  on,  "  that 
you'll  stick  to  your  cornstalk  hoss  as  long  as  you  want 
to.  You'll  live  longer  for^it,  an'  your  friends  will  love 
you  jest  the  same.  Frank  here  has  never  been  a  boy. 

[  52  ] 


RETURN     OF    TWO    WARRIORS 

Out  of  bib  an'  hippin,  he  jumped  into  long  britches 
an'  a  standin'  collar,  an'  the  only  fun  he  ever  had  in 
his  life  he  got  kicked  out  of  college  for,  an'  served 
him  right,  too.  I'll  bet  you  a  thrip  to  a  pint  of  pot- 
licker  that  Nan'll  ride  a  stick  hoss  tomorrer  ef  she  takes 
a  notion — an'  she's  seventeen.  Don't  you  forgit,  Gabriel, 
that  you'll  never  be  a  boy  but  once,  an'  you  better  make 
the  most  on  it  whilst  you  can." 

The  waggon  came  just  then  to  the  brow  of  the  hill 
that  overlooked  Shady  Dale,  and  here  Mr.  Sanders 
brought  his  team  to  a  standstill.  It  had  been  many 
long  months  since  his  eyes  or  Bethune's  had  gazed  on 
the  familiar  scene.  "  I'll  tell  you  what's  the  fact,  boys," 
he  said,  drawing  in  a  long  breath — "  the  purtiest  place 
this  side  of  Paradise  lies  right  yander  before  our  eyes. 
Ef  I  had  some  un  to  give  out  the  lines,  I'd  cut  loose 
and  sing  a  hime.  Yes,  sirs!  you'd  see  me 'break  out  an' 
howl  jest  like  my  old  coon  dog,  Louder,  used  to  do  when 
he  struck  a  hot  track.  The  Lord  has  picked  us  out  of 
the  crowd,  Frank,  an'  holp  us  along  at  every  turn  an' 
crossin'.  But  before  the  week's  out,  we'll  forgit  to  be 
thankful.  J'inin'  the  church  wouldn't  do  us  a  grain 
of  good.  By  next  Sunday  week,  Frank,  you'll  be 
struttin'  around  as  proud  as  a  turkey  gobbler,  an'  you'll 
git  wuss  an'  wuss  less'n  Nan  takes  a  notion  for  to  frail 
you  out  ag'in." 

Bethune  relished  the  remark  so  little  that  he  chirped 
to  the  mules,  but  Mr.  Sanders  seized  the  reins  in  his 
own  hands.  "  We've  fit  an'  we've  fout,  an'  we've  got 
knocked  out,"  he  went  on,  "  an'  now,  here  we  are  ready 

[  53  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

for  to  take  a  fresh  start.  The  Lord  send  that  it's  the 
right  start."  He  would  have  driven  on,  but  at  that 
moment,  a  shabby  looking  vehicle  drew  up  alongside 
the  waggon.  Gabriel  and  Cephas  knew  at  once  that 
the  outfit  belonged  to  Mr.  Goodlett.  His  mismatched 
team  consisted  of  a  very  large  horse  and  a  very  small 
mule,  both  of  them  veterans  of  the  war.  They  had 
been  left  by  the  Federals  in  a  broken-down  condition, 
and  Mr.  Goodlett  found  them  grazing  about,  trying 
to  pick  up  a  living.  He  appropriated  them,  fed  them 
well,  and  was  now  utilising  them  not  only  for  farm- 
purposes,  but  for  conveying  stray  travellers  to  and 
from  Malvern,  earning  in  this  way  many  a  dollar  that 
would  have  gone  elsewhere. 

Mr.  Goodlett  drew  rein  when  he  saw  Mr.  Sanders 
and  Francis  Bethune,  and  gave  them  as  cordial  a 
greeting  as  he  could,  for  he  was  a  very  undemonstrative 
and  reticent  man.  At  that  time  both  Gabriel  and 
Cephas  thought  he  was  both  sour  and  surly,  but,  in 
the  course  of  events,  their  opinions  in  regard  to  that 
and  a  great  many  other  matters  underwent  a  consid 
erable  change. 


t 


CHAPTER  FOUR 


Mr.  Goodlett's  Passengers 

AHE  vehicle  that  Mr.  Goodlett  was  driving  was  an 
old  hack  that  had  been  used  for  long  years  to  ply  be 
tween  Shady  Dale  and  Malvern.  On  this  occasion,  Mr. 
Goodlett  had  for  his  passengers  a  lady  and  a  young 
woman  apparently  about  Nan's  age.  There  was  such 
a  contrast  between  the  two  that  Gabriel  became  absorbed 
in  contemplating  them;  so  much  so  that  he  failed  to 
hear  the  greetings  that  passed  between  Mr.  Goodlett 
and  Mr.  Sanders,  who  were  old-time  friends.  The  elder 
of  the  two  women  was  emaciated  to  a  degree,  and  her 
face  was  pale  to  the  point  of  ghastliness;  but  in  spite 
of  her  apparent  weakness,  there  was  an  ease  and  a 
refinement  in  her  manner,  a  repose  and  a  self-possession 
that  reminded  Gabriel  of  his  grandmother,  when  she  was 
receiving  the  fine  ladies  from  a  distance  who  sometimes 
called  on  her.  The  younger  of  the  two  women,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  the  picture  of  health.  The  buoyancy  of 
youth  possessed  her.  She  had  an  eager,  impatient  way 
of  handling  her  fan  and  handkerchief,  and  there  was 
a  twinkle  in  her  eye  that  spoke  of  humour;  but  her 
glance  never  fell  directly  on  the  men  in  the  waggon; 
all  her  attention  was  for  the  invalid. 

55 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Mr.  Goodlett,  his  greeting  over,  was  for  pushing  on, 
but  the  voice  of  the  invalid  detained  him.  "  Can  you 
tell  me,"  she  said,  turning  to  Mr.  Sanders,  "  whether 
the  Gaither  Place  is  occupied?  Oh,  but  I  forgot;  you 
are  just  returning  from  that  horrible,  horrible  war." 
She  had  lifted  herself  from  a  reclining  position,  but  fell 
back  hopelessly. 

"  Why,  Ab  thar  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  you  that," 
responded  Mr.  Sanders,  his  voice  full  of  sympathy. 

"Well,  I  jest  ain't,"  declared  Mr.  Goodlett,  with 
some  show  of  impatience.  "  I  tell  you,  William,  I  been 
so  worried  an'  flurried,  an'  so  disqualified  an'  mortified, 
an'  so  het  up  wi'  fust  one  thing  an'  then  another,  that 
I  ain't  skaccly  had  time  for  to  scratch  myself  on  the 
eatchin'  places,  much  less  gittin'  up  all  times  er  night 
for  to  see  ef  the  Gaither  Place  is  got  folks  or  ha'nts 
in  it.  When  you've  been  through  what  I  have,  William, 
you  won't  come  a-axin'  me  ef  the  Gaither  house  is  whar 
it  mought  be,  or  whar  it  oughter  be,  or  ef  it's  popy- 
lated  or  dispopylated." 

The  young  lady  stroked  the  invalid's  hand  and 
smiled.  Something  in  the  frowning  face  and  fractious 
tone  of  the  old  man  evidently  appealed  to  her  sense 
of  humour.  "  Don't  you  think  it  is  absurd,"  said  the 
pale  lady,  again  appealing  to  Mr.  Sanders,  "  that  a 
person  should  live  in  so  small  a  town,  and  not  know 
whether  one  of  the  largest  houses  in  the  place  is  occu 
pied — a  house  that  belongs  to  a  family  that  used  to 
be  one  of  the  most  prominent  of  the  county?  Why, 
of  course  it  is  absurd.  There  is  something  uncanny 

[  56  ] 


MR.     GOODLETT'S     PASSENGERS 

about  it .  I  haven't  had  such  a  shock  in  many  a 
day." 

"  But,  mother,"  protested  the  young  lady,  "  why 
worry  about  it?  A  great  many  strange  things  have 
happened  to  us,  and  this  is  the  least  important  of 
all." 

"  Why,  dearest,  this  is  the  strangest  of  all  strange 
things.  The  driver  here  says  he  lives  at  Dorringtons', 
and  the  Gaither  house  is  not  so  very  far  from  Dor 
ringtons'." 

"  Everybody  knows,"  said  Gabriel,  "  that  Miss  Polly 
Gaither  lives  in  the  Gaither  house."  He  spoke  before 
he  was  aware,  and  began  to  blush.  Whereupon  the 
young  lady  gave  him  a  very  bright  smile. 

"  Humph !  "  grunted  Mr.  Goodlett,  giving  the  lad 
a  severe  look.  He  started  to  climb  into  his  scat,  but 
turned  to  Gabriel.  "Is  she  got  a  wen?"  he  asked, 
with  something  like  a  scowl. 

"  Yes,  she  has  a  wen,"  replied  the  lad,  blushing 
again,  but  this  time  for  Mr.  Goodlett. 

"  Well,  then,  ef  she's  got  a  wen,  ef  Polly  Gaithers 
is  got  a  wen,  she's  livin'  in  that  house,  bekaze,  no 
longcr'n  last  Sat'day,  she  come  roun'  for  to  borry  some 
meal ;  an'  whatsomever  she  use  to  have,  an'  whatsomever 
she  mought  have  herearter,  she's  got  a  wen  now,  an' 
I'll  tell  you  so  on  a  stack  of  Bibles  as  high  as  the 
court-house." 

The  young  lady  laughed,  but  immediately  controlled 
herself  with  a  half-petulant  "  Oil  dear !  "  Laughter 
became  her  well,  for  it  smoothed  away  a  little  frown 

[  57  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

of  perplexity  that  had  established  itself  between  her 
eyebrows. 

"  Oh,  we'll  take  the  young  man's  word  for  it,"  said 
the  invalid,  "  and  we  are  very  much  obliged  to  him. 
What  is  your  name  ?  "  When  Gabriel  had  told  her, 
she  repeated  the  name  over  again.  "  I  used  to  know 
your  grandmother  very  well,"  she  said.  "  Tell  her 
Margaret  Bridalbin  has  returned  home,  and  would  be 
delighted  to  see  her." 

"  Then,  ma'am,  you  must  be  Margaret  Gaither,"  re 
marked  Mr.  Sanders. 

"  Yes,  I  was  Margaret  Gaither,"  replied  the  invalid. 
"  I  used  to  know  you  very  well,  Mr.  Sanders,  and  if 
I  had  changed  as  little  as  you  have,  I  could  still  boast 
of  my  beauty." 

"  Yet  nobody  hears  me  braggin'  of  mine,  Margaret," 
said  Mr.  Sanders  with  a  smile  that  found  its  reflection 
in  the  daughter's  face ;  "  but  I  hope  from  my  heart 
that  home  an'  old  friends  will  be  a  good  physic  for 
you,  an'  git  you  to  braggin'  ag'in.  Anyhow,  ef  you 
don't  brag  on  yourself,  you  can  take  up  a  good  part 
of  the  time  braggin'  on  your  daughter." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir,  for  the  clever  joke.  My 
mother  has  told  me  long  ago  how  full  of  fun  you 
are,"  said  the  young  lady,  blushing  sufficiently  to  show 
that  she  did  not  regard  the  compliment  as  altogether 
a  joke.  "  You  may  drive  on  now,"  she  remarked  to 
Mr.  Goodlett.  Whereupon  that  surly-looking  veteran 
slapped  his  mismatched  team  with  the  loose  ends  of  the 
reins,  and  the  shabby  old  hack  moved  off  toward  Shady 

[  58  1 


MR.    GOODLETT'S    PASSENGERS 

Dale.  Mr.  Sanders  waited  for  the  vehicle  to  get  some 
distance  ahead,  and  then  he  too  urged  his  team  for 
ward. 

"  The  word  is  Home,"  he  said ;  "  I  reckon  Margaret 
has  had  her  sheer  of  trouble,  an'  a  few  slices  more. 
She  made  her  own  bed,  as  the  sayin'  is,  an'  now  she's 
layin'  on  it.  Well,  well,  well!  when  time  an'  occasions 
take  arter  you,  it  ain't  no  use  to  run;  you  mought  jest 
as  well  set  right  flat  on  the  ground  an'  see  what  they've 
got  ag'in  you." 

The  remark  was  not  original,  nor  very  deep,  but  it 
recurred  to  Gabriel  when  trouble  plucked  at  his  own 
sleeve,  or  when  he  saw  disaster  run  through  a  family 
like  a  contagion. 

In  no  long  time  the  waggon  reached  the  outskirts  of 
the  town,  where  the  highway  became  a  part  of  the 
wide  street  that  ran  through  the  centre  of  Shady  Dale, 
flowing  around  the  old  court-house  in  the  semblance  of 
a  wide  river  embracing  a  small  island.  Gabriel  and 
Cephas  were  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  waggon  here, 
but  Mr.  Sanders  was  of  another  mind. 

"  Ride  on  to  Dorrin'tons'  wi'  us,"  he  said.  "  I  want 
to  swap  a  joke  or  two  wi'  Mrs.  Ab." 

"  She's  sure  to  get  the  best  of  it,"  Gabriel  warned 
him. 

"  Likely  enough,  but  that  won't  spile  the  fun,"  re 
sponded  Mr.  Sanders. 

Mrs.  Absalom,  as  she  was  called,  was  the  wife  of 
Mr.  Goodlett,  and  was  marked  off  from  the  great 
majority  of  her  sex  by  her  keen  appreciation  of  humour. 

[  59  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Her  own  contributions  were  spoiled  for  some,  for  the 
reason  that  she  gave  them  the  tone  of  quarrelsomeness ; 
whereas,  it  is  to  be  doubted  whether  she  ever  gave  way 
to  real  anger  more  than  once  or  twice  in  her  life.  She 
was  Dr.  Randolph  Dorrington's  housekeeper,  and  was 
a  real  mother  to  Nan,  who  was  motherless  before  she 
had  drawn  a  dozen  breaths  of  the  poisonous  air  of  this 
world. 

By  the  time  the  waggon  reached  Dorrington's,  Gabriel, 
acting  on  the  instructions  of  Mr.  Sanders,  had  crawled 
under  the  cover  of  the  waggon,  and  was  holding  out  a 
pair  of  old  shoes,  so  that  a  passer-by  would  imagine 
that  some  one  was  lying  prone  in  the  waggon  with  his 
feet  sticking  out. 

When  the  waggon  reached  the  Dorrington  Place, 
Mr.  Sanders  drew  rein,  and  hailed  the  house,  having 
signed  to  Cephas  to  make  himself  invisible.  Evidently 
Mrs.  Absalom  was  in  the  rear,  or  in  the  kitchen,  which 
was  a  favourite  resort  of  hers,  for  the  "  hello  "  had  to 
be  repeated  a  number  of  times  before  she  made  her 
appearance.  She  came  wiping  her  face  on  her  ample 
apron,  and  brushing  the  hair  from  her  eyes.  She  was 
always  a  busy  housekeeper. 

"  We're  huntin',  ma'am,  for  a  place  called  Clop- 
tons',"  said  Mr.  Sanders  in  a  falsetto  voice,  his  hat 
pulled  down  over  his  eyes ;  "  an'  we'd  thank  you  might'ly 
ef  you'd  put  us  on  the  right  road.  About  four  mile 
back,  we  picked  up  a'  old  snoozer  who  calls  himself 
William  H.  Sanders,  an'  he  keeps  on  talkin'  about  the 
Clopton  Place." 

[  60  ] 


MR.     GOODLETT'S     PASSENGERS 

"  Why,  the  Clopton  Place  is  right  down  the  road  a 
piece.  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  wi'  old  Billy  ?  " 
she  inquired  with  real  solicitude.  "  Was  he  wounded 
in  the  war,  or  is  he  jest  up  to  some  of  his  old-time 
devilment?  " 

"Well,  ma'am,  from  the  looks  of  the  jimmyjon  we 
found  by  his  side,  he  must  'a'  shot  hisself  in  the  neck. 
He  complains  of  cold  feet,  an'  he's  got  'em  stuck  out 
from  under  the  kiver." 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Absalom ; 
"  the  climate  will  never  strike  in  on  old  Billy's  feet  till 
he  gits  better  acquainted  wi'  soap  an'  water." 

"  An'  he  talks  in  his  sleep  about  a  Mrs.  Absalom," 
Mr.  Sanders  went  on,  "  an'  he  cries,  an'  says  she  used 
to  be  his  sweetheart,  but  he  had  to  jilt  her  bekaze  she 
can't  cook  a  decent  biscuit." 

"  The  old  villain !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Absalom,  with 
well  simulated  indignation ;  "  he  can't  tell  the  truth 
even  when  he's  drunk.  If  he  ever  sobers  up  in  this 
world,  I'll  give  him  a  long  piece  of  my  mind.  Jest 
drive  on  the  way  you've  started,  an'  ef  you  can  keep 
in  the  middle  of  the  road  wi'  that  drunken  old  slink 
in  the  waggin,  you'll  come  to  Cloptons'  in  a  mighty 
few  minutes." 

At  this  juncture  Mr.  Sanders  was  obliged  to  laugh, 
whereupon,  Mrs.  Absalom,  looking  narrowly  at  the 
travellers,  had  no  difficulty  in  recognising  them.  "  Well, 
my  life !  "  she  exclaimed,  raising  her  hands  above  her 
head  in  a  gesture  of  amazement.  "  Why,  that's  old 
Billy,  an'  him  sober ;  and  Franky  Bethune,  an'  him  not 

f  61  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

a  primpin' !  Well,  well !  I'd  'a'  never  believed  it  ef  I 
hadn't  'a'  seed  it.  I  vow  I'm  beginnin'  to  believe  that 
war's  a  real  good  thing;  it's  like  a  revival  meetin'  for 
some  folks.  I'm  sorry  Ab  didn't  take  his  gun  an'  jine  in 
— maybe  he'd  'a'  shed  his  stinginess.  But  I  declare  to 
gracious,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  all;  the  sight  of  you  is 
good  for  the  sore  eyes.  An'  Frank  tryin'  to  raise  a 
beard!  Well,  honey,  I'll  send  you  a  bottle  of  berga- 
mot  grease  to  rub  on  it." 

Mrs.  Absalom  came  out  to  the  waggon  and  shook 
hands  with  the  returned  warriors  very  heartily,  and, 
sharp  as  her  tongue  was,  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as 
she  greeted  them;  for  in  that  region,  nearly  all  had 
feelings  of  kinship  for  their  neighbours  and  friends, 
and  in  that  day  and  time,  people  were  not  ashamed  of 
their  emotions. 

"  Margaret  Gaither  has  come  back,"  remarked  Mr. 
Sanders.  "  Ab  fetched  her  in  his  hack." 

"  Well,  the  poor  creetur' !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Absalom ; 
"  they  say  she's  had  trouble  piled  on  her  house-high." 

"  She  won't  have  much  more  in  this  world  ef  looks 
is  any  sign,"  Mr.  Sanders  replied.  "  She  ain't  nothin' 
but  a  livin'  skeleton,  but  she's  got  a  mighty  lively  gal." 

The  waggon  moved  on  and  left  Mrs.  Absalom  lean 
ing  on  the  gate,  a  position  that  she  kept  for  some  little 
time.  Farther  down  the  road,  Gabriel,  whose  example 
was  followed  by  Cephas,  bade  Mr.  Sanders  good-bye, 
nodded  lightly  to  Francis  Bethune,  and  jumped  from 
the  waggon. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Tolliver,"  said  Bethune.  "  I  want 
f  62  1 


MR.     GOODLETT'S     PASSENGERS 

you  to  come  to  see  me — and  bring  Cephas  with  you.  I 
am  going  to  make  you  like  me  if  I  can.  The  home 
folks  have  been  writing  great  things  about  you.  Oh, 
you  must  come,"  he  insisted,  seeing  that  Gabriel  was 
hesitating.  "  I  want  to  show  you  what  a  good  fellow 
I  can  be  when  I  try  right  hard." 

"  Yes,  you  boys  must  come,"  said  Mr.  Sanders ;  "  an' 
ef  Frank  is  off  courtin'  that  new  gal — I  ketched  him 
cuttin'  his  eye  at  her — you  can  hunt  me  up,  an'  I'll 
tell  you  some  old-time  tales  that'll  make  your  hair  stan' 
on  end." 


[63] 


CHAPTER  FIVE 


The  Story  of  Margaret  Gaither 

\JABRIEL  and  Cephas  started  toward  their  homes, 
which  lay  in  the  same  direction.  Instead  of  going 
around  by  road  or  street,  they  cut  across  the  fields  and 
woods.  Before  they  had  gone  very  far,  they  heard 
a  rustling,  swishing  sound  in  the  pine-thicket  through 
which  they  were  passing,  but  gave  it  little  attention, 
both  being  used  to  the  noises  common  to  the  forest.  In 
their  minds  it  was  either  a  rabbit  or  a  grey  fox  scut 
tling  away ;  or  a  poree  scratching  in  the  bushes,  or  a 
ground-squirrel  running  in  the  underbrush. 

But  a  moment  later,  Nan  Dorrington,  followed  by 
Tasma  Tid,  burst  from  the  pine-thicket,  crying,  "  Oh, 
you  walk  so  fast,  you  two !  "  She  was  panting  and 
laughing,  and  as  she  stood  before  the  lads,  one  little 
hand  at  her  throat,  and  the  other  vainly  trying  to  con 
trol  her  flying  hair,  a  delicious  rosiness  illuminating  her 
face,  Gabriel  knew  that  he  had  just  been  doing  her  a 
gross  injustice.  As  he  walked  along  the  path,  followed 
by  his  faithful  Cephas,  he  had  been  mentally  compar 
ing  her  to  a  young  woman  he  had  just  seen  in  Mr. 
Goodlett's  hack;  and  had  been  saying  to  himself  that 
the  new-comer  was,  if  possible,  more  beautiful  than 
Nan. 

But  now  here  was  Nan  herself  in  person,  and  Gabriel's 
[  64  1 


STORY    OF    MARGARET    GAITHER 

comparisons  appeared  to  be  shabby  indeed.  With  Nan 
before  his  eyes,  he  could  see  what  a  foolish  thing  it  was 
to  compare  her  with  any  one  in  this  world  except  her 
self.  There  was  a  flavour  of  wildness  in  her  beauty  that 
gave  it  infinite  charm  and  variety.  It  was  a  wildness 
that  is  wedded  to  grace  and  vivacity,  such  as  we  see 
embodied  in  the  form  and  gestures  of  the  wood-dove, 
or  the  partridge,  or  the  flying  squirrel,  when  it  is  un- 
awed  by  the  presence  of  man.  The  flash  of  her  dark 
brown  eyes,  her  tawny  hair  blowing  free,  and  her  lithe 
figure,  with  the  dark  green  pines  for  a  background, 
completed  the  most  charming  picture  it  is  possible  for 
the  mind  to  conceive.  All  that  Gabriel  was  conscious 
of,  beyond  a  dim  surprise  that  Nan  should  be  here — 
the  old  Nan  that  he  used  to  know — was  a  sort  of  dawn 
ing  thrill  of  ecstasy  as  he  contemplated  her.  He  stood 
staring  at  her  with  his  mouth  open. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that,  Gabriel?"  she 
cried ;  "  I  am  no  ghost.  And  why  do  you  walk  so  fast? 
I  have  been  running  after  you  as  hard  as  I  can.  And, 
wasn't  that  Francis  Bethune  in  the  waggon  with  Mr. 
Sanders?" 

"  Did  you  run  hard  just  to  ask  me  that?  Mrs.  Ab 
salom  could  have  saved  you  all  this  trouble."  The  men 
tion  of  Bethune's  name  had  brought  Gabriel  to  earth, 
and  to  commonplace  thoughts  again.  "  Yes,  that  was 
Master  Bethune,  and  he  has  grown  to  be  a  very  hand 
some  young  man." 

"  Oh,  he  was  always  good-looking,"  said  Nan  lightly. 
"  Where  are  you  and  Cephas  going?  " 

F  65  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Straight  home,"  replied  Gabriel. 

"  Well,  I'm  going  there,  too.  I  heard  Nonny  "  (this 
was  Mrs.  Absalom)  "  say  that  Margaret  Gaither  has 
come  home  again,  and  then  I  remembered  that  your 
grandmother  promised  to  tell  me  a  story  about  her  some 
day.  I'm  going  to  tease  her  to-day  until  she  tells  it." 

"  And  didn't  Mrs.  Absalom  tell  you  that  Bethune 
was  in  the  waggon  with  Mr.  Sanders?"  Gabriel  in 
quired,  in  some  astonishment. 

"Oh,  Gabriel!  you  are  so — "  Nan  paused  as  if 
hunting  for  the  right  term  or  word.  Evidently  she 
didn't  find  it,  for  she  turned  to  Gabriel  with  a  winning 
smile,  and  asked  what  Mr.  Sanders  had  had  to  say. 
"  I'm  so  glad  he's  come  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I 
wouldn't  live  in  a  town  that  didn't  have  its  Mr.  San 
ders,"  she  declared. 

"  Well,  about  the  first  thing  he  said  was  to  remind 
Bethune  of  the  time  when  you  whacked  him  over  the 
head  with  a  cudgel." 

"And  what  did  Master  Francis  say  to  that?"  in 
quired  Nan,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Why,  what  could  he  say  ?  He  simply  turned  red. 
Now,  if  it  had  been  me,  I 

The  path  was  so  narrow,  that  Nan,  the  two  lads,  and 
Tasma  Tid  were  walking  in  Indian  file.  Nan  stopped 
so  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  that  Gabriel  fell  against 
her.  As  he  did  so,  she  turned  and  seized  him  by  the 
arm,  and  emphasised  her  words  by  shaking  him  gently 
as  each  was  uttered.  "  Now — Gabriel — don't — say — 
disagreeable — things  !  " 

[CO] 


STORY    OF    MARGARET    GAITHER 

What  she  meant  he  had  not  the  least  idea,  and  it 
was  not  the  first  nor  the  last  time  that  his  wit  lacked 
the  nimbleness  to  follow  and  catch  her  meaning. 

"  Disagreeable !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why,  I  was  sim 
ply  going  to  say  that  if  I  had  been  in  Bethune's  shoes 
to-day,  I  should  have  declared  that  you  did  the  proper 
thing." 

Nan  dropped  a  low  curtsey,  saying,  "  Oh,  thank  you, 
sir — what  was  the  gentleman's  name,  Cephas — the  gen 
tleman  who  was  such  a  cavalier?  " 

"Was  he  a  Frenchman?"  asked  Cephas. 

"  Oh,  Cephas !  you  should  be  ashamed.  You  have 
as  little  learning  as  I."  With  that  she  turned  and  went 
along  the  path  at  such  a  rapid  pace  that  it  was  as  much 
as  the  lads  could  do  to  keep  up  with  her,  without  break 
ing  into  an  undignified  trot. 

Nan  went  home  with  Gabriel;  was  there  before  him 
indeed,  for  he  paused  a  moment  to  say  something  to 
Cephas.  She  ran  along  the  walk,  took  the  steps  two 
at  a  time,  and  as  she  ran  skipping  along  the  hallway, 
she  cried  out :  "  Grandmother  Lumsden !  where  are  you  ? 
Oh,  what  do  you  think?  Margaret  Gaither  has  come 
home ! "  When  Gabriel  entered  the  room,  Nan  had 
fetched  a  footstool,  and  was  already  sitting  at  Mrs. 
Lumsden's  feet,  holding  one  of  the  old  lady's  frail,  but 
beautiful  white  hands. 

Here  was  another  picture,  the  beauty  of  which  dawned 
on  Gabriel  later — youth  and  innocence  sitting  at  the 
feet  of  sweet  and  wholesome  old  age.  The  lad  was  al 
ways  proud  of  his  grandmother,  but  never  more  so  than 

[67] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

at  that  moment  when  her  beauty  and  refinement  were 
brought  into  high  relief  by  her  attitude  toward  Nan 
Dorrington.  Gabriel  was  very  happy  to  be  near  those 
two.  Not  for  a  weary  time  had  Nan  been  so  friendly 
and  familiar  as  she  was  now,  and  he  felt  a  kind  of  ex 
altation. 

"  Margaret  Gaither !  Margaret  Gaither !  "  Gabriel's 
grandmother  repeated  the  name  as  if  trying  to  summon 
up  some  memory  of  the  past.  "  Poor  girl !  Did  you 
see  her,  Gabriel?  And  how  did  she  look?"  With  a 
boy's  bluntness,  he  described  her  physical  condition,  ex 
aggerating,  perhaps,  its  worst  features,  for  these  had 
made  a  deep  impression  on  him.  "  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  for 
her !  and  she  has  a  daughter ! "  said  Mrs.  Lumsden 
softly.  "  I  will  call  on  them  as  soon  as  possible.  And 
then  if  poor  Margaret  is  unable  to  return  the  visit,  the 
daughter  will  come.  And  you  must  be  here,  Nan;  Ga 
briel  will  fetch  you.  And  you,  Gabriel — for  once  you 
must  be  polite  and  agreeable.  Candace  shall  brush  up 
your  best  suit,  and  if  it  is  to  be  mended,  I  will  mend  it." 

Nan  and  Gabriel  laughed  at  this.  Both  knew  that 
this  famous  best  suit  would  not  reach  to  the  lad's  ankles, 
and  that  the  sleeves  of  the  coat  would  end  a  little  way 
below  the  elbow. 

"  I  can't  imagine  what  you  are  laughing  at,"  said 
Mrs.  Lumsden,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  I  am  sure  the  suit 
is  a  very  respectable  one,  especially  when  you  have  none 
better." 

"  No,  Grandmother  Lumsden ;  Gabriel  will  have  to 
take  his  tea  in  the  kitchen  with  Aunt  Candace." 

[  68   1 


STORY    OF    MARGARET    GAITHER 

However,  the  affair  never  came  off.  The  dear  old 
lady,  in  whom  the  social  instinct  was  so  strong,  had  no 
opportunity  to  send  the  invitation  until  long  afterward. 
Nan  was  compelled  to  beg  very  hard  for  the  story  of 
Margaret  Gaither.  It  was  never  the  habit  of  Gabriel's 
grandmother  to  indulge  in  idle  gossip;  she  could  al 
ways  find  some  excuse  for  the  faults  of  those  who  were 
unfortunate ;  but  Nan  had  the  art  of  persuasion  at  her 
tongue's  end.  Whether  it  was  this  fact  or  the  fact  that 
Mrs.  Lumsden  believed  that  the  story  carried  a  moral 
that  Nan  would  do  well  to  digest,  it  would  be  impossible 
to  say.  At  any  rate,  the  youngsters  soon  had  their 
desire.  The  story  will  hardly  bear  retelling;  it  can 
be  compressed  into  a  dozen  lines,  and  be  made  as  unin 
teresting  as  a  newspaper  paragraph;  but,  as  told  by 
Gabriel's  grandmother,  it  had  the  charm  wrhich  sym 
pathy  and  pity  never  fail  to  impart  to  a  narrative. 
When  it  came  to  an  end,  Nan  was  almost  in  tears,  though 
she  could  never  tell  why. 

"  It  happened,  Nan,  before  you  and  Gabriel  were 
born,"  said  Mrs.  Lumsden.  "  Margaret  Gaither  was  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  girls  I  have  ever  seen,  and  at  that 
time  Pulaski  Tomlin  was  one  of  the  handsomest  young 
men  in  all  this  region.  Naturally  these  two  were  drawn 
together.  They  were  in  love  with  each  other  from  the 
first,  and,  finally,  a  day  was  set  for  the  wedding.  They 
were  to  have  been  married  in  November,  but  one  night 
in  October,  the  Tomlin  Place  was  found  to  be  on  fire. 
The  flames  had  made  considerable  headway  before  they 
were  discovered,  and,  to  me,  it  was  a  most  horrible  sight. 

[69] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Yet,  horrible  as  it  was,  there  was  a  fascination  about  it. 
The  sweeping  roar  of  the  flames  attracted  me  and  held 
me  spellbound,  but  I  hope  I  shall  never  be  under  such 
a  spell  again. 

"  Well,  it  was  impossible  to  save  the  house,  and  no 
one  attempted  such  a  preposterous  feat.  It  was  all  that 
the  neighbours  could  do  to  prevent  the  spread  of  the 
flames  to  the  near-by  houses.  Some  of  the  furniture 
was  saved,  but  the  house  was  left  to  burn.  All  of  a  sud 
den,  Fanny  Tomlin — 

"  You  mean  Aunt  Fanny  ?  "  interrupted  Nan. 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  All  of  a  sudden  Fanny  Tomlin  re 
membered  that  her  mother's  portrait  had  been  left  hang 
ing  on  the  wall.  Without  a  word  to  any  one  she  ran 
into  the  house.  How  she  ever  passed  through  the  door 
safely,  I  never  could  understand,  for  every  instant,  it 
seemed  to  me,  great  tongues  and  sheets  of  flame  were 
darting  across  it  and  lapping  and  licking  inward,  as  if 
trying  to  force  an  entrance.  You  may  be  sure  that  we 
who  were  looking  on,  helpless,  held  our  breaths  when 
Fanny  Tomlin  disappeared  through  the  doorway.  Pu- 
laski  Tomlin  was  not  a  witness  to  this  performance,  but 
he  was  quickly  informed  of  it ;  and  then  he  ran  this  way 
and  that,  like  one  distraught.  Twice  he  called  her  name, 
and  his  voice  must  have  been  heard  above  the  roar  of 
the  flames,  for  presently  she  appeared  at  an  upper  win 
dow,  and  cried  out, '  What  is  it,  brother  ?  '  *  Come  down ! 
Come  out ! '  he  shouted.  <  I'm  afraid  I  can't,'  she  an 
swered  ;  and  then  she  waved  her  hand  and  disappeared, 
after  trying  vainly  to  close  the  blinds. 

[70] 


STORY  OF  MARGARET  GAIT HER 

"  But  no  sooner  had  Pulaski  Tomlin  caught  a  glimpse 
of  his  sister,  and  heard  her  voice,  than  he  lowered  his 
head  like  an  angry  bull,  and  rushed  through  the  flames 
that  now  had  possession  of  the  door.  I,  for  one,  never 
expected  to  see  him  again ;  and  I  stood  there  frightened, 
horrified,  fascinated,  utterly  helpless.  Oh,  when  you  go 
through  a  trial  like  that,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lumsden, 
stroking  Nan's  hair  gently,  "  you  will  realise  how  small 
and  weak  and  contemptible  human  beings  are  when  they 
are  engaged  in  a  contest  with  the  elements.  There  we 
stood,  helpless  and  horror-stricken,  with  two  of  our 
friends  in  the  burning  house,  which  was  now  almost  com 
pletely  covered  with  the  roaring  flames.  What  thoughts 
I  had  I  could  never  tell  you,  but  I  wondered  afterward 
that  I  had  not  become  suddenly  grey. 

"  We  waited  an  age,  it  seemed  to  me.  Major  Tom 
lin  Perdue,  of  Halcyondale,  who  happened  to  be  here 
at  the  time,  was  walking  about  wringing  his  hands  and 
crying  like  a  child.  Up  to  that  moment,  I  had  thought 
him  to  be  a  hard  and  cruel  man,  but  we  can  never  judge 
others,  not  even  our  closest  acquaintances,  until  we  see 
them  put  to  the  test.  Suddenly,  I  heard  Major  Perdue 
cry,  '  Ah ! '  and  saw  him  leap  forward  as  a  wild  animal 
leaps. 

"  Through  the  doorway,  which  was  now  entirely  cov 
ered  with  a  roaring  flame,  a  blurred  and  smoking  figure 
had  rushed — a  bulky,  shapeless  figure,  it  seemed — and 
then  it  collapsed  and  fell,  and  lay  in  the  midst  of  the 
smoke,  almost  within  reach  of  the  flames.  But  Major 
Perdue  was  there  in  an  instant,  and  he  dragged  the 

[71  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

shapeless  mass  away  from  the  withering  heat  and  stifling 
smoke.  After  this,  he  had  more  assistance  than  was 
necessary  or  desirable. 

"  '  Stand  back ! '  he  cried ;  and  his  voice  had  in  it  the 
note  that  men  never  fail  to  obey.  '  Stand  back  there ! 
Where  is  Dorrington  ?  Why  isn't  he  here  ?  '  Your  father, 
my  dear,  had  gone  into  the  country  to  see  a  patient.  He 
was  on  his  way  home  when  he  saw  the  red  reflection  of 
the  flames  in  the  sky,  and  he  hastened  as  rapidly  as  his 
horse  could  go.  He  arrived  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 
He  heard  his  name  called  as  he  drove  up,  and  was  prompt 
to  answer.  '  Make  way  there ! '  commanded  Ma j  or  Per 
due  ;  '  make  way  for  Dorrington.  And  you  ladies  go 
home !  There's  nothing  you  can  do  here.'  Then  I  heard 
Fanny  Tomlin  call  my  name,  and  Major  Perdue  re 
peated  in  a  ringing  voice,  '  Lucy  Lumsden  is  wanted 
here!' 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  every  command  given 
by  Major  Perdue  was  obeyed  promptly.  The  crowd 
dispersed  at  once,  with  the  exception  of  two  or  three, 
who  wTere  detailed  to  watch  the  few  valuables  that  had 
been  saved,  and  a  few  men  who  lingered  to  see  if  they 
could  be  of  any  service. 

"  Pulaski  Tomlin  had  been  kinder  to  his  sister  than 
to  himself.  Only  the  hem  of  her  dress  was  scorched. 
It  may  be  absurd  to  say  so,  but  that  was  the  first  thing 
I  noticed;  and,  in  fact,  that  was  all  the  injury  she 
had  suffered.  Her  brother  had  found  her  unconscious 
on  a  bed,  and  he  simply  rolled  her  in  the  quilts  and  blan 
kets,  and  brought  her  downstairs,  and  out  through  the 

[72] 


STORY    OF    MARGARET    GAITHER 

smoke  and  flame  to  the  point  where  he  fell.  Fanny  has 
not  so  much  as  a  scar  to  show.  But  you  can  look  at  her 
brother's  face  and  see  what  he  suffered.  When  they 
lifted  him  into  your  father's  buggy,  his  outer  garments 
literally  crumbled  beneath  the  touch,  and  one  whole  side 
of  his  face  was  raw  and  bleeding. 

"  But  he  never  thought  of  himself,  though  the  agony 
he  endured  must  have  been  awful.  His  first  word  was 
about  his  sister :  '  Is  Fanny  hurt  ?  '  And  when  he  was 
told  that  she  was  unharmed,  he  closed  his  eyes,  saying, 
'  Don't  worry  about  me.'  We  brought  him  here — it 
was  Fanny's  wish — and  by  the  time  he  had  been  placed 
in  bed,  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  were  drawn  as  you 
see  them  now.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  apply 
cold  water,  and  this  was  done  for  the  most  part  by 
Major  Perdue,  though  both  Fanny  and  I  were  anxious 
to  relieve  him.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  devoted  in  his 
attentions.  He  was  absolutely  tireless;  and  I  was  so 
struck  with  his  tender  solicitude  that  I  felt  obliged  to 
make  to  him  what  was  at  once  a  confession  and  an  apol 
ogy.  '  I  once  thought,  Major  Perdue,  that  you  were  a 
hard  and  cruel  man,'  said  I,  '  but  I'll  never  think  so 
again.' 

"  '  But  why  did  you  think  so  in  the  first  place?  '  he 
asked. 

"  '  Well,  I  had  heard  of  several  of  your  shooting- 
scrapes,'  I  replied. 

"  He  regarded  me  with  a  smile.  '  There  are  two  sides 
to  everything,  especially  a  row,'  he  said.  '  I  made  up 
my  mind  when  a  boy  that  turn-about  is  fair  play.  When 

[73] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

I  insult  a  man,  I'm  prepared  to  take  the  consequences; 
yet  I  never  insulted  a  man  in  my  life.  The  man  that 
insults  me  must  pay  for  it.  Women  may  wipe  their 
feet  on  me,  and  children  may  spit  on  me;  but  no  man 
shall  insult  me,  not  by  so  much  as  the  lift  of  an  eye 
lash,  or  the  twitch  of  an  upper -lip.  Pulaski  here  has 
done  me  many  a  favour,  some  that  he  tried  to  hide,  and 
I'd  never  get  through  paying  him  if  I  were  to  nurse 
him  night  and  day  for  the  rest  of  my  natural  life.  In 
some  things,  Ma'am,  you'll  find  me  almost  as  good  as 
a  dog.' 

"  I  must  have  given  him  a  curious  stare,"  continued 
Mrs.  Lumsden,  "  for  he  laughed  softly,  and  remarked, 
6  If  you'll  think  it  over,  Ma'am,  you'll  find  that  a  dog 
has  some  mighty  fine  qualities.'  And  it  is  true." 

"  But  what  about  Margaret  Gaither?  "  inquired  Nan, 
who  was  determined  that  the  love-story  should  not  be 
lost  in  a  wilderness  of  trifles — as  she  judged  them  to  be. 

"  Poor  Margaret !  "  murmured  Gabriel's  grandmother. 
"  I  declare !  I  had  almost  forgotten  her.  Well,  bright 
and  early  the  next  morning,  Margaret  came  and  asked 
to  see  Pulaski  Tomlin.  I  left  her  in  the  parlour,  arid 
carried  her  request  to  the  sick-room. 

"  '  Brother,'  said  Fanny, '  Margaret  is  here,  and  wants 
to  see  you.  Shall  she  come  in  ?  ' 

"  I  saw  Pulaski  clench  his  hands ;  his  bosom  heaved 
and  his  lips  quivered.  '  Not  for  the  world ! '  he  ex 
claimed  ;  '  oh,  not  for  the  world ! ' 

"  « I  can't  tell  her  that,'  said  I.  '  Nor  I,'  sobbed  Fan 
ny,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  '  Oh,  it  will  kill 
her!' 

[  74  ] 


STORY    OF    MARGARET    GAITHER 

"  Major  Perdue  turned  to  me,  his  eyes  wet.  '  Do  you 
know  why  he  doesn't  want  her  to  see  him?  '  I  could 
only  give  an  affirmative  nod.  '  Do  you  know,  Fanny?  ' 
She  could  only  say,  '  Yes,  yes ! '  between  her  sobs.  '  It 
is  for  her  sake  alone;  we  all  see  that,'  declared  Major 
Perdue.  '  Now,  then,'  he  went  on,  touching  me  on  the 
arm,  '  I  want  you  to  see  how  hard  a  hard  man  can  be. 
Show  me  where  the  poor  child  is.' 

"I  led  him  to  the  parlour  door.  He  stood  aside  for 
me  to  enter  first,  but  I  shook  my  head  and  leaned  against 
the  door  for  support.  '  This  is  Miss  Gaither?  '  he  said, 
as  he  entered  alone.  '  My  name  is  Perdue — Tomlin  Per 
due.  We  are  very  sorry,  but  no  one  is  permitted  to  see 
Pulaski,  except  those  who  are  nursing  him.'  '  That  is 
what  I  am  here  for,'  she  said,  '  and  no  one  has  a  better 
right.  I  am  to  be  his  wife ;  we  are  to  be  married  next 
month.'  '  It  is  not  a  matter  of  right,  Miss  Gaither. 
Are  you  prepared  to  sustain  a  very  severe  shock  ? ' 
'  Why,  what — what  is  the  trouble  ?  '  '  Can  you  not  con 
ceive  a  reason  why  you  should  not  see  him  now — at  this 
time,  and  for  many  days  to  come?  '  4 1  cannot,'  she 
replied  haughtily.  '  That,  Miss  Gaither,  is  precisely  the 
reason  why  you  are  not  to  see  him  now,'  said  Major 
Perdue.  His  tone  was  at  once  humble  and  tender.  '  I 
don't  understand  you  at  all,'  she  exclaimed  almost  vio 
lently.  '  I  tell  you  I  will  see  him ;  I'll  beat  upon  the 
wall;  I'll  lie  across  the  door,  and  compel  you  to  open 
it.  Oh,  why  am  I  treated  so  and  by  his  friends ! '  She 
flung  herself  upon  a  sofa,  weeping  wildly ;  and  there  I 
found  her,  when,  a  moment  later,  I  entered  the  room 
in  response  to  a  gesture  from  Major  Perdue. 

[  75  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Whether  she  glanced  up  and  saw  me,  or  whether 
she  divined  my  presence,  I  could  never  guess,"  Gabriel's 
grandmother  went  on,  "  but  without  raising  her  face,  she 
began  to  speak  to  me.  '  This  is  your  house,  Miss  Lucy,' 
she  said — she  always  called  me  Miss  Lucy — '  and  why 
can't  I,  his  future  wife,  go  in  and  speak  to  Pulaski ;  or, 
at  the  very  least,  hold  his  hand,  and  help  you  and  Fan 
ny  minister  to  his  wants  ?  '  I  made  her  no  answer,  for 
I  could  not  trust  myself  to  speak ;  I  simply  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  sofa  by  her,  and  stroked  her  hair,  trying 
in  this  mute  way  to  demonstrate  my  sympathy.  She 
seemed  to  take  some  comfort  from  this,  and  finally  put 
her  request  in  a  different  shape.  Would  I  permit  her 
to  sit  in  a  chair  near  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  Pu 
laski  lay,  until  such  time  as  she  could  see  him?  '  I  will 
give  you  no  trouble  whatever,'  she  said.  '  I  am  deter 
mined  to  see  him,'  she  declared ;  '  he  is  mine,  and  I  am 
his.'  I  gave  a  cordial  assent  to  this  proposition,  car 
ried  a  comfortable  chair  and  placed  it  near  the  door, 
and  there  she  stationed  herself. 

"  I  went  into  the  room  where  the  others  were,  and  was 
surprised  to  see  Fanny  Tomlin  looking  so  cheerful. 
Even  Major  Perdue  appeared  to  be  relieved.  Fanny 
asked  me  a  question  with  her  eyes,  and  I  answered  it 
aloud.  '  She  is  sitting  by  the  door,  and  says  she  will 
remain  there  until  she  can  see  Pulaski.'  He  beat  his 
hand  against  the  headboard  of  the  bed,  his  mental  agony 
was  so  great,  and  kept  murmuring  to  himself.  Major 
Perdue  turned  his  back  on  his  friend's  writhings,  and 
went  to  the  window.  Presently  he  returned  to  the  bed- 

[76] 


STORY    OF    MARGARET    GAITHER 

side,  his  watch  in  his  hand.  '  Pulaski,'  he  said,  '  if  she's 
there  fifteen  minutes  from  now,  I  shall  invite  her  in.' 
Pulaski  Tomlin  made  no  reply,  and  we  continued  our 
ministrations  in  perfect  silence. 

"  A  few  minutes  later,  I  had  occasion  to  go  into  my 
own  room  for  a  strip  of  linen,  and  to  my  utter  amaze 
ment,  the  chair  I  had  placed  for  Margaret  Gaither  was 
empty.  Had  she  gone  for  a  drink  of  water,  or  for  a 
book?  I  went  from  room  to  room,  calling  her  name, 
but  she  had  gone;  and  I  have  never  laid  eyes  on  her 
from  that  day  to  this.  She  went  away  to  Malvern  on  a 
visit,  and  while  there  eloped  with  a  Louisiana  man  named 
Bridalbin,  whose  reputation  was  none  too  savoury,  and 
we  never  heard  of  her  again.  Even  her  Aunt  Polly  lost 
all  trace  of  her." 

"  What  did  Mr.  Tomlin  say  when  you  told  him  she 
was  gone?  "  Nan  inquired. 

"  We  never  told  him.  I  think  he  understood  that  she 
was  gone  almost  as  soon  as  she  went,  for  his  spiritual 
faculties  are  very  keen.  I  remember  on  one  occasion, 
and  that  not  so  very  long  ago,  when  he  refused  to  re 
tire  at  night,  because  he  had  a  feeling  that  he  would 
be  called  for;  and  his  intuitions  were  correct.  He  was 
summoned  to  the  bedside  of  one  of  his  friends  in  the  coun 
try,  and,  as  he  went  along,  he  carried  your  father  with 
him.  Margaret  Gaither,  such  as  she  was,  was  the  sum 
and  the  substance  of  his  first  and  last  romance.  He  suf 
fered,  but  his  suffering  has  made  him  strong. 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Lumsden  went  on,  "  it  has  made  him 
strong  and  great  in  the  highest  sense.  Do  you  know 

[77] 


GABRIEL    TOL LIVER 

why  he  is  called  Neighbour  Tomlin?  It  is  because  he 
loves  his  neighbours  as  he  loves  himself.  There  is  no 
sacrifice  that  he  will  not  make  for  them.  The  poorest 
and  meanest  person  in  the  world,  black  or  white,  can 
knock  at  Neighbour  Tomlin's  door  any  hour  of  the  day 
or  night,  and  obtain  food,  money  or  advice,  as  the  case 
may  be.  If  his  wife  or  his  children  are  ill,  Neighbour 
Tomlin  will  get  out  of  bed  and  go  in  the  cold  and  rain, 
and  give  them  the  necessary  attention.  To  me,  there 
never  was  a  more  beautiful  countenance  in  the  world 
than  Neighbour  Tomlin's  poor  scarred  face.  But  for 
that  misfortune  we  should  probably  never  have  known 
what  manner  of  man  he  is.  The  Providence  that  urged 
Margaret  Gaither  to  fly  from  this  house  was  arranging 
for  the  succour  of  many  hundreds  of  unfortunates,  and 
Pulaski  Tomlin  was  its  instrument." 

"  If  I  had  been  Margaret  Gaither,"  said  Nan,  clench 
ing  her  hands  together,  "  I  never  would  have  left  that 
door.  Never!  They  couldn't  have  dragged  me  away. 
I've  never  been  in  love,  I  hope,  but  I  have  feelings  that 
tell  me  what  it  is,  and  I  never  would  have  gone  away." 

"  Well,  we  must  not  judge  others,"  said  Gabriel's 
grandmother  gently.  "  Poor  Margaret  acted  accord 
ing  to  her  nature.  She  was  vain,  and  lacked  stability, 
but  I  really  believe  that  Providence  had  a  hand  in  the 
whole  matter." 

"  I  know  I'm  pretty,"  remarked  Nan,  solemnly,  "  but 
I'm  not  vain." 

16  Why,  Nan !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lumsdcn,  laughing ; 
"  what  put  in  your  head  the  idea  that  you  are  pretty  ?  " 

[  78  ] 


STORY    OF    MARGARET    GAITHER 

"  I  don't  mean  my  own  self,"  explained  Nan,  "  but 
the  other  self  that  I  see  in  the  glass.  She  and  I  are  very 
good  friends,  but  sometimes  we  quarrel.  She  isn't  the 
one  that  would  have  stayed  at  the  door,  but  my  own, 
own  self." 

Mrs.  Lumsden  looked  at  the  girl  closely  to  see  if  she 
was  joking,  but  Nan  was  very  serious  indeed.  "  I'm 
sure  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Gabriel's  grand 
mother. 

"  Gabriel  does,"  replied  Nan  complacently.  Gabriel 
understood  well  enough,  but  he  never  could  have  ex 
plained  it  satisfactorily  to  any  one  who  was  unfamiliar 
with  Nan's  way  of  putting  things. 

"  Well,  you  arc  certainly  a  pretty  girl,  Nan,"  Ga 
briel's  grandmother  admitted,  "  and  when  you  and 
Francis  Bethune  are  married,  you  will  make  a  handsome 
pair." 

"  When  Francis  Bethune  and  I  are  married ! "  ex 
claimed  Nan,  giving  a  swift  side-glance  at  Gabriel,  who 
pretended  to  be  reading.  "  Why,  what  put  such  an 
idea  in  your  head,  Grandmother  Lumsden?  " 

"  Why,  it  is  on  the  cards,  my  dear.  It  is  what,  in 
my  young  days,  they  used  to  call  the  proper  caper." 

"  Well,  when  Frank  and  I  arc  to  be  married,  I'll  send 
you  a  card  of  invitation  so  large  that  you  will  be  unable 
to  get  it  in  the  front  door."  She  rose  from  the  foot 
stool,  saying,  "  I  must  go  home ;  good-bye,  everybody ; 
and  send  me  word  when  you  have  chocolate  cake." 

This  was  so  much  like  the  Nan  who  had  been  his  com 
rade  for  so  long  that  Gabriel  felt  a  little  thrill  of  exul- 

[79] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

tation.  A  little  later  he  asked  his  grandmother  what  she 
meant  by  saying  that  it  was  on  the  cards  for  Nan  to 
marry  Bethune. 

"  Why,  I  have  an  idea  that  the  matter  has  already 
been  arranged,"  she  answered  with  a  knowing  smile.  "  It 
would  be  so  natural  and  appropriate.  You  are  too 
young  to  appreciate  the  wisdom  of  such  arrangements, 
Gabriel,  but  you  will  understand  it  when  you  are  older. 
Nan  is  not  related  in  any  way  to  the  Cloptons,  though 
a  great  many  people  think  so.  Her  grandmother  was 
captured  by  the  Creeks  when  only  a  year  or  two  old. 
She  was  the  only  survivor  of  a  party  of  seven  which 
had  been  ambushed  by  the  Indians.  She  was  too  young 
to  give  any  information  about  herself.  She  could  say 
a  few  words,  and  she  knew  that  her  name  was  Rosalind, 
but  that  was  all.  She  was  ransomed  by  General  McGil- 
livray,  and  sent  to  Shady  Dale.  Under  the  circum 
stances,  there  was  nothing  for  Raleigh  Clopton  to  do 
but  adopt  her.  Thus  she  became  Rosalind  Clopton. 
She  married  Benier  Odom  when,  as  -well  as  could  be 
judged,  she  was  more  than  forty  years  old.  Randolph 
Dorrington  married  her  daughter,  who  died  when  Nan 
was  born.  Marriage,  Gabriel,  is  not  what  young  people 
think  it  is;  and  I  do  hope  that  when  you  take  a  wife, 
it  will  be  some  one  you  have  known  all  your  life." 

"  I  hope  so,  too,"  Gabriel  responded  with  great  hearti 
ness. 


[   8"   1 


CHAPTER  SIX 


The  Passing  of  Margaret 

JL  HE  day  after  the  return  of  Mr.  Sanders  and  Francis 
Bethune  from  the  war,  Gabriel's  grandmother  had  an 
early  caller  in  the  person  of  Miss  Fanny  Tomlin.  For 
a  maiden  lady,  Miss  Fanny  was  very  plump  and  good- 
looking.  Her  hair  was  grey,  and  she  still  wore  it  in 
short  curls,  just  as  she  had  worn  it  when  a  girl.  The 
style  became  her  well.  The  short  curls  gave  her  an  air 
of  jauntiness,  which  was  in  perfect  keeping  with  her 
disposition, 'and  they  made  a  very  pretty  frame  for  her 
rosy,  smiling  face.  Socially,  she  was  the  most  popular 
person  in  the  town,  with  both  young  and  old.  A  chil 
dren's  party  was  a  dull  affair  in  Shady  Dale  without 
Miss  Fanny  to  give  it  shape  and  form,  to  suggest  games, 
and  to  make  it  certain  that  the  timid  ones  should  have 
their  fair  share  of  the  enjoyment.  Indeed,  the  com 
munity  would  have  been  a  very  dull  one  but  for  Miss 
Fanny ;  in  return  for  which  the  young  people  conferred 
the  distinction  of  kinship  on  her  by  calling  her  Aunt 
Fanny.  She  had  remained  single  because  her  youngest 
brother,  Pulaski,  was  unmarried,  and  needed  some  one 
to  take  care  of  him,  so  she  said.  But  she  had  another 

[81    ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

brother,  Silas  Tomlin,  who  was  twice  a  widower,  aiid 
who  seemed  to  need  some  one  to  take  care  of  him,  for 
he  presented  a  very  mean  and  miserable  appearance. 

It  chanced  that  when  Miss  Fanny  called,  Gabriel  was 
studying  his  lessons,  using  the  dining-room  table  as  a 
desk,  and  he  was  able  to  hear  the  conversation  that  en 
sued.  Miss  Fanny  stood  on  no  ceremony  in  entering. 
The  front  door  was  open  and  she  entered  without  knock 
ing,  saying,  "  If  there's  nobody  at  home  I'll  carry  the 
house  away.  Where  are  you,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  In  my  room,  Fanny ;    come  right  in." 

"  How  are  you,  and  how  is  the  high  and  mighty  Ga 
briel?  "  Having  received  satisfactory  answers  to  her 
friendly  inquiries,  Miss  Fanny  plunged  at  once  into  the 
business  that  had  brought  her  out  so  early.  "  What  do 
you  think,  Lucy?  Margaret  Gaither  and  her  daughter 
have  returned.  They  are  at  the  Gaither  Place,  and  Miss 
Polly  has  just  told  me  that  there  isn't  a  mouthful  to 
eat  in  the  house — and  there  is  Margaret  at  the  point 
of  death!  Why,  it  is  dreadful.  Something  must  be 
done  at  once,  that's  certain.  I  wouldn't  have  bothered 
you,  but  you  know  what  the  circumstances  are.  I  don't 
know  what  Margaret's  feelings  are  with  respect  to  me; 
you  know  we  never  were  bosom  friends.  Yet  I  never 
really  disliked  her,  and  now,  after  all  that  has  hap 
pened,  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  that  she  was  suffering 
for  anything.  Likely  enough  she  would  be  embarrassed 
if  I  called  and  offered  assistance.  What  is  to  be 
done?" 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  best  for  some  one  to  call — some  one 
[  82  ] 


THE    PASSING    OF    MARGARET 

who  was  her  friend?  "  The  cool,  level  voice  of  Gabriel's 
grandmother  seemed  to  clear  the  atmosphere.  "  What 
ever  is  to  be  done  should  be  done  sympathetically.  If  I 
could  see  Polly,  there  would  be  no  difficulty." 

"  Well,  I  saw  Miss  Polly,"  said  Miss  Fanny,  "  and 
she  told  me  the  whole  situation,  and  I  was  on  the  point 
of  saying  that  I'd  run  back  home  and  send  something 
over,  when  an  upper  window  was  opened,  and  Margaret 
Gaither's  daughter  stood  there  gazing  at  me — and  she's 
a  beauty,  Lucy;  there's  a  chance  for  Gabriel  there. 
Well,  you  know  how  deaf  Miss  Polly  is;  if  I  had  said 
what  I  wanted  to  say,  that  ehild  would  have  heard  every 
word,  and  there  was  something  in  her  face  that  held 
me  dumb.  Miss  Polly  talked  and  I  nodded  my  head, 
and  that  was  all.  The  old  soul  must  have  thought  the 
cat  had  my  tongue."  Miss  Fanny  laughed  uneasily  as 
she  made  the  last  remark. 

"  If  Margaret  is  ill,  she  should  have  attention.  I 
will  go  there  this  morning."  This  was  Mrs.  Lumsden's 
decision. 

"  I'll  send  the  carriage  for  you  as  soon  as  I  can  run 
home,"  said  Miss  Fanny.  With  that  she  rose  to  go, 
and  hustled  out  of  the  room,  but  in  the  hallway  she 
turned  and  remarked :  "  Tell  Gabriel  that  he  will  have 
to  lengthen  his  suspenders,  now  that  Nan  has  put  on 
long  dresses." 

"  Oh,  no !  "  protested  Mrs.  Lumsden.  "  We  mustn't 
put  any  such  nonsense  in  Gabriel's  head.  Nan  is  for 
Francis  Bethune.  If  it  isn't  all  arranged  it  ought  to 
be.  Why,  the  land  of  Dorrington  joins  the  laud  that 

[83] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Bethune  will  fall  heir  to  some  day,  and  it  seems  natural 
that  the  two  estates  should  become  one."  Gabriel's 
grandmother  had  old-fashioned  ideas  about  marriage. 

"  Oh,  I  see !  "  replied  Miss  Fanny  with  a  laugh ;  "  you 
are  so  intent  on  joining  the  two  estates  in  wedlock  that 
you  take  no  account  of  the  individuals.  But  brother 
Pulaski  says  that  for  many  years  to  come,  the  more  land 
a  man  has  the  poorer  he  will  become." 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  see  how  that  can  be,"  re 
sponded  Mrs.  Lumsden.  This  was  the  first  faint  whiff 
of  the  new  order  that  had  come  to  the  nostrils  of  the 
dear  old  lady. 

Miss  Fanny  went  home,  and  in  no  long  time  Neigh 
bour  Tomlin's  carriage  came  to  the  door.  At  the  last 
moment,  Mrs.  Lumsden  decided  that  Gabriel  should  go 
with  her.  "  It  may  be  necessary  for  you  to  go  on  an 
errand.  I  presume  there  are  servants  there,  but  I  don't 
know  whether  they  are  to  be  depended  on." 

So  Gabriel  helped  his  grandmother  into  the  carriage, 
climbed  in  after  her,  and  in  a  Yery  short  time  they  were 
at  the  Gaither  Place.  The  young  woman  whom  Gabriel 
had  seen  in  Mr.  Goodlett's  hack  was  standing  in  the 
door,  and  the  little  frown  on  her  forehead  was  more  pro 
nounced  than  ever.  She  was  evidently  troubled. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Mrs.  Lumsden.  "I  have  come 
to  see  Margaret.  Docs  she  receive  visitors  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Margaret,  too,"  said  the  young  woman, 
after  returning  Mrs.  Lumsden's  salutation,  and  bowing 
to  Gabriel.  "  But  of  course  you  came  to  see  my  mother. 
She  is  upstairs — she  would  be  carried  there,  though  I 

[SI] 


THE     PASSING    OF    MARGARET 

begged  her  to  take  one  of  the  lower  rooms.  She  is  in 
the  room  in  which  she  was  born." 

"  I  know  the  way  very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Lumsden.  She 
was  for  starting  up  the  stairway,  but  the  young  woman 
detained  her  by  a  gesture  and  turned  to  Gabriel. 

"  Won't  you  come  in?  "  she  inquired.  "  We  are  old 
acquaintances,  you  know.  Your  name  is  Gabriel — wait ! 
— Gabriel  Tolliver.  Don't  you  see  how  well  I  know  you  ? 
Come,  we'll  help  your  grandmother  up  the  stairs."  This 
they  did — the  girl  with  the  firm  and  practised  hand  of 
an  expert,  and  Gabriel  with  the  awkwardness  common 
to  young  fellows  of  his  age.  The  young  woman  led 
Mrs.  Lumsden  to  her  mother's  bedside,  and  presently 
came  back  to  Gabriel. 

"  We  will  go  down  now,  if  you  please,"  she  said. 
"  My  mother  is  very  ill — worse  than  she  has  ever  been 
— and  you  can't  imagine  how  lonely  I  am.  Mother  is 
at  home  here,  while  my  home,  if  I  have  any,  is  in  Louisi 
ana.  I  suppose  you  never  had  any  trouble  ?  " 

"  My  mother  is  dead,"  he  said  simply.  Margaret 
reached  out  her  hand  and  touched  him  gently  on  the 
arm.  It  was  a  gesture  of  impulsive  sympathy. 

"  What  is  it?  "  Gabriel  asked,  thinking  she  was  calling 
his  attention  to  something  she  saw  or  heard. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said  softly.  Gabriel  understood  then, 
and  he  could  have  kicked  himself  for  his  stupidity. 
"  Your  grandmother  is  a  very  beautiful  old  lady,"  she 
remarked  after  a  period  of  silence. 

"  She  is  very  good  to  me,"  Gabriel  replied,  at  a  loss 
what  to  say,  for  he  always  shrank  from  praising  those 

[85] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

near  and  dear  to  him.  As  he  sat  there,  he  marvelled 
at  the  self-possession  of  this  young  woman  in  the  midst 
of  strangers,  and  with  her  mother  critically  ill. 

In  a  little  while  he  heard  his  grandmother  calling  him 
from  the  head  of  the  stairs.  "  Gabriel,  jump  in  the  car 
riage' and  fetch  Dr.  Dorrington  at  once.  He's  at  home 
at  this  hour." 

He  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  Nan,  who  was  coming  up 
town  on  business  of  her  own,  so  she  said,  must  needs  get 
in  the  carriage  with  her  father.  The  combination  was 
more  than  Gabriel  had  bargained  for.  There  was  a 
twinkle  in  Dr.  Dorrington's  eye,  as  he  glanced  good- 
humouredly  from  one  to  the  other,  that  Gabriel  did  not 
like  at  all.  For  some  reason  or  other,  which  he  was  un 
able  to  fathom,  the  young  man  was  inclined  to  fight  shy 
of  Nan's  father;  and  there  was  nothing  he  liked  less 
than  to  find  himself  in  Dr.  Dorrington's  company — 
more  especially  when  Nan  was  present,  too.  Noting 
the  quizzical  glances  of  the  physician,  Gabriel,  like  a 
great  booby,  began  to  blush,  and  in  another  moment, 
Nan  was  blushing,  too. 

"  Now,  father  " — she  only  called  him  father  when 
she  was  angry,  or  dreadfully  in  earnest — "  Now,  father ! 
if  you  begin  your  teasing,  I'll  jump  from  the  carriage. 
I'll  not  ride  with  a  grown  man  who  doesn't  know  how 
to  behave  in  his  daughter's  company." 

Her  father  laughed  gaily.  "  Teasing?  Why,  I 
wasn't  thinking  of  teasing.  I  was  just  going  to  remark 
that  the  weather  is  verv  warm  for  the  season,  and  then 
I  intended  to  suggest  to  Gabriel  that,  as  I  proposed  to 

[86] 


THE    PASSING    OF    MARGARET 

get  you  a  blue  parasol,  he  would  do  well  to  get  him  a 
red  one." 

"And  why  should  Gabriel  get  a  parasol?"  Nan  in 
quired  with  a  show  of  indignation. 

"  Why,  simply  to  be  in  the  fashion,"  her  father  re 
plied.  "  I  remember  the  time  when  you  cried  for  a  hat 
because  Gabriel  had  one ;  .1  also  remember  that  once  when 
you  were  wearing  a  sun-bonnet,  Gabriel  borrowed  one  and 
wore  it — and  a  pretty  figure  he  cut  in  it." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  remember  it,"  said  Gabriel 
laughing  and  blushing. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  how  in  the  world  I  could  forget 
it,"  Dr.  Dorrington  responded  in  tone  so  solemn  that 
Nan  laughed  in  spite  of  her  uncomfortable  feelings. 

"  You  say  Margaret  Gaither  has  a  daughter,  Ga 
briel?  "  said  Dr.  Dorrington,  suddenly  growing  serious, 
much  to  the  relief  of  the  others.  "  And  about  Nan's 
age?  Well,  you  will  have  to  go  in  with  me,  daughter, 
and  see  her.  If  her  mother  is  seriously  ill,  it  will  be  a 
great  comfort  to  her  to  have  near  her  some  one  of  her 
own  age." 

Nan  made  a  pretty  little  mouth  at  this  command,  to 
show  that  she  didn't  relish  it,  but  otherwise  she  made  no 
objection.  Indeed,  as  matters  fell  out,  it  became  almost 
her  duty  to  go  in  to  Margaret  Bridalbin ;  for  when  the 
carriage  reached  the  house,  the  young  girl  was  standing 
at  the  gate. 

"  Is  this  Dr.  Dorrington  ?  Well,  you  are  to  go  up  at 
once.  They  are  constantly  calling  to  know  if  you 
have  come.  I  don't  know  how  my  dearest  is — I  dread  to 

[87]  " 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

know.  Oh,  I  am  sure  you  will  do  what  you  can."  There 
was  an  appeal  in  the  girl's  voice  that  went  straight  to 
the  heart  of  the  physician. 

"  You  may  make  your  mind  easy  on  that  score,  my 
dear,"  said  Dr.  Dorrington,  laying  his  hand  lightly  on 
her  shoulder.  There  was  something  helpful  and  hope 
ful  in  the  very  tone  of  his  voice.  "  This  is  my  daughter 
Nan,"  he  added. 

Margaret  turned  to  Nan,  who  was  lagging  behind 
somewhat  shyly.  "  Will  you  please  come  in? — you  and 
Gabriel  Tolliver.  It  is  very  lonely  here,  and  everything 
is  so  still  and  quiet.  My  name  is  Margaret  Bridalbin," 
she  said.  She  took  Nan's  hand,  and  looked  into  her 
eyes  as  if  searching  for  sympathy.  And  she  must  have 
found  it  there,  for  she  drew  Nan  toward  her  and  kissed 
her. 

That  settled  it  for  Nan.  "  My  name  is  Nan  Dorriiig- 
ton,"  she  said,  swallowing  a  lump  in  her  throat,  "  and  I 
hope  we  shall  be  very  good  friends." 

"  We  are  sure  to  be,"  replied  the  other,  with  emphasis. 
"  I  always  know  at  once." 

They  went  into  the  dim  parlour,  and  Nan  and  Mar 
garet  sat  with  their  arms  entwined  around  each  other. 
"  Gabriel  told  me  yesterday  that  you  were  a  young  girl," 
Nan  remarked. 

"  I  am  seventeen,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Only  seventeen !  Why,  I  am  seventeen,  and  yet  I 
seem  to  be  a  mere  child  by  the  side  of  you.  You  talk 
and  act  just  as  a  grown  woman  does." 

"  That  is  because  I  have  never  associated  with  chil- 
[88] 


THE    PASSING    OF    MARGARET 

dren  of  my  own  age.  I  have  always  been  thrown  with 
older  persons.  And  then  my  mother  has  been  ill  a  long, 
long  time,  and  I  have  been  compelled  to  do  a  great  deal 
of  thinking.  I  know  of  nothing  more  disagreeable  than 
to  have  to  think.  Do  you  dislike  poor  folks  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  replied  Nan,  snuggling  up  to  Mar 
garet.  "  Some  of  my  very  bestest  friends  are  poor." 

Margaret  smiled  at  the  childish  adjective,  and  placed 
her  cheek  against  Nan's  for  a  moment.  "  I'm  glad  you 
don't  dislike  poverty,"  she  said,  "  for  we  are  very  poor." 

"  When  it  comes  to  that,"  Nan  responded,  "  everybody 
around  here  is  poor — everybody  except  Grandfather 
Clop  ton  and  Mr.  Tomlin.  They  have  money,  but  I  don't 
know  where  they  get  it.  Nonny  says  that  some  folks 
have  only  to  dream  of  money,  and  when  they  wake  in 
the  morning  they  find  it  under  their  pillows." 

Dr.  Dorrington  came  downstairs  at  this  moment. 
"  Your  mother  is  very  much  better  than  she  was  awhile 
ago,"  he  said  to  Margaret.  "  She  never  should  have 
made  so  long  a  journey.  She  has  wasted  in  that  way 
strength  enough  to  have  kept  her  alive  for  six  months." 

"  I  begged  and  implored  her  not  to  undertake  it,"  the 
daughter  explained,  "  but  nothing  would  move  her. 
Even  when  she  needed  nourishing  food,  she  refused  to 
buy  it ;  she  was  saving  it  to  bring  her  home." 

"  Well,  she  is  here^  now,  and  we'll  do  the  best  we  can. 
Gabriel,  will  you  run  over,  and  ask  Fanny  Tomlin  to 
come?  And  if  Neighbour  Tomlin  is  there  tell  him  I 
want  to  see  him  on  some  important  business." 

It  was  very  clear  to  Gabriel  from  all  this  that  there 

[89] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

was  small  hope  for  the  poor  lady  above.  She  might 
be  better  than  she  was  when  the  doctor  arrived,  but  there 
was  no  ray  of  hope  to  be  gathered  from  Dr.  Dorring- 
ton's  countenance. 

Pulaski  Tomlin  and  his  sister  responded  to  the  sum 
mons  at  once;  and  with  Gabriel's  grandmother  holding 
her  hand,  the  poor  lady  had  an  interview  with  Pulaski 
Tomlin.  But  she  never  saw  his  face  nor  he  hers.  The 
large  screen  was  carried  upstairs  from  the  dining-room, 
and  placed  in  front  of  the  bed;  and  near  the  door  a 
chair  was  placed  for  Pulaski  Tomlin.  It  was  the  heart's 
desire  of  the  dying  lady  that  Neighbour  Tomlin  should 
become  the  guardian  of  her  daughter.  He  was  deeply 
affected  when  told  of  her  wishes,  but  before  consenting 
to  accept  the  responsibility,  asked  to  see  the  daughter, 
and  went  to  the  parlour,  where  she  was  sitting  with  Nan 
and  Gabriel.  When  he  came  in  Nan  ran  and  kissed  him 
as  she  never  failed  to  do,  for,  though  his  face  on  one 
side  was  so  scarred  and  drawn  that  the  sight  of  it  some 
times  shocked  strangers,  those  who  knew  him  well,  found 
his  wounded  countenance  singularly  attractive. 

"  This  is  Margaret,"  he  said,  taking  the  girl's  hand. 
"  Come  into  the  light,  my  dear,  where  you  may  see  me 
as  I  am.  Your  mother  has  expressed  a  wish  that  I  should 
become  your  guardian.  As  an  old  and  very  dear  friend 
of  mine,  she  has  the  right  to  make  the  request.  I  am 
willing  and  more  than  willing  to  meet  her  wishes,  but 
first  I  must  have  your  consent." 

They  went  into  the  hallway,  which  was  flooded  with 
light.  "  Are  you  the  Mr.  Tomlin  of  whom  I  have  heard 

[90] 


THE    PASSING    OF    MARGARET 

my  mother  speak?  "  Margaret  asked,  fixing  her  clear 
eyes  on  his  face;  and  when  he  had  answered  in  the 
affirmative — "  I  wonder  that  she  asked  you,  after  what 
she  has  told  me.  She  certainly  has  no  claims  on  you." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  that  is  where  you  are  wrong,"  he  in 
sisted.  "  I  feel  that  every  one  in  this  world  has  claims 
on  me,  especially  those  who  were  my  friends  in  old  times. 
It  is  I  who  made  a  mistake,  and  not  your  mother;  and 
I  should  be  glad  to  rectify  that  mistake  now,  as  far  as 
I  can,  by  carrying  out  her  wishes.  You  know,  of  course, 
that  she  is  very  ill;  will  you  go  up  and  speak  with 
her?  " 

"  No,  not  now ;  not  when  there  are  so  many  strangers 
there,"  Margaret  replied,  and  stood  looking  at  him  with 
almost  childish  wonder. 

At  this  moment,  Nan,  who  knew  by  heart  all  the  lit 
tle  tricks  of  friendship  and  affection,  left  Margaret,  and 
took  her  stand  by  Neighbour  Tomlin's  side.  It  was  an 
indorsement  that  the  other  could  not  withstand.  She 
followed  Nan,  and  said  very  firmly  and  earnestly,  "  It 
shall  be  as  my  mother  wishes." 

"  I  hope  you  will  never  have  cause  to  regret  it,"  re 
marked  Pulaski  Tomlin  solemnly. 

"  She  never  will,"  Nan  declared  emphatically,  as  Pu 
laski  Tomlin  turned  to  go  upstairs. 

He  went  up  very  slowly,  as  if  lost  in  thought.  He 
went  to  the  room  and  stood  leaning  against  the  frame 
work  of  the  door.  "  Pulaski  is  here,"  said  Miss  Fanny, 
who  had  been  waiting  to  announce  his  return. 

"  You  remember,  Pulaski,"  the  invalid  began,  "  that 

[91  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

once  when  you  were  ill,  you  would  not  permit  me  to  see 
you.  I  was  so  ignorant  that  I  was  angry;  yes,  and 
bitter;  my  vanity  was  wounded.  And  I  was  ignorant 
and  bitter  for  many  years.  I  never  knew  until  eighteen 
months  ago  why  I  was  not  permitted  to  see  you.  I 
knew  it  one  day,  after  I  had  been  ill  a  long  time.  I 
looked  in  the  mirror  and  saw  my  wasted  face  and  hol 
low  eyes.  I  knew  then,  and  if  I  had  known  at  first,  Pu- 
laski,  everything  would  have  been  so  different.  I  have 
come  all  this  terrible  journey  to  ask  you  to  take  my 
daughter  and  care  for  her.  It  is  my  last  wish  that  you 
should  be  her  guardian  and  protector.  Is  she  in  the 
room  ?  Can  she  hear  what  I  am  about  to  say  ?  " 

"  No,  Margaret,"  replied  Pulaski  Tomlin,  in  a  voice 
that  was  tremulous  and  husky.  "  She  is  downstairs ; 
I  have  just  seen  her." 

''  Well,  she  has  no  father  according  to  my  way  of 
thinking,"  Margaret  Bridalbin  went  on.  "  Her  father 
is  a  deserter  from  the  Confederate  army.  She  doesn't 
know  that;  I  tried  to  tell  her,  but  my  heart  failed  me. 
Neither  does  .she  know  that  I  have  been  divorced  from 
him.  These  things  you  can  tell  her  when  the  occasion 
arises.  If  I  had  told  her,  it  would  have  been  like  accus 
ing  myself.  I  was  responsible — I  felt  it  and  feel  it — 
and  I  simply  could  not  tell  her." 

"  I  shall  try  to  carry  out  your  wishes,  Margaret," 
said  Pulaski  Tomlin ;  "  I  have  seen  your  daughter,  as 
Fanny  suggested,  and  she  has  no  objection  to  the  ar 
rangement.  I  shall  do  all  that  you  desire.  She  shall 
be  to  me  a  most  sacred  charge." 

[92] 


THE    PASSING    OF    MARGARET 

"  If  you  knew  how  happy  you  are  making  me,  Pu- 
laski — Oh,  I  am  grateful — grateful !  " 

"  There  should  be  no  talk  of  gratitude  between  you 
and  me,  Margaret." 

At  a  signal  from  Pulaski  Tomlin,  Judge  Odom  cleared 
his  throat,  and  read  the  document  that  he  had  drawn 
up,  and  his  strong,  business-like  voice  went  far  toward 
relieving  the  strain  that  had  been  put  on  those  who 
heard  the  conversation  between  the  dying  woman  and 
the  man  who  had  formerly  been  her  lover.  Everything 
was  arranged  as  she  desired,  every  wish  she  expressed 
had  been  carried  out ;  and  then,  as  if  there  was  nothing 
else  to  be  done,  the  poor  lady  closed  her  eyes  with  a  sigh, 
and  opened  them  no  more  in  this  world.  It  seemed  that 
nothing  had  sustained  her  but  the  hope  of  placing  her 
daughter  in  charge  of  Pulaski  Tomlin. 


[93] 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 


Silas  Tomlin  Goes  A-C ailing 

f  f  HEN  the  solemn  funeral  ceremonies  were  over,  it  was 
arranged  that  Nan  should  spend  a  few  days  with  her 
new  friend,  Margaret  Gaither — she  was  never  called  by 
the  name  of  her  father  after  her  mother  died — and  Ga 
briel  took  advantage  of  Nan's  temporary  absence  to 
pay  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Absalom.  He  was  very  fond  of  that 
strong-minded  woman;  but  since  Nan  had  grown  to 
be  such  a  young  lady,  he  had  not  called  as  often  as  he 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing.  He  was  afraid,  indeed, 
that  some  one  would  accuse  him  of  a  sneaking  desire  to 
see  Nan,  and  he  was  also  afraid  of  the  quizzing  which 
Nan's  father  was  always  eager  to  apply.  But  with  Nan 
away — her  absence  being  notorious,  as  you  may  say — 
Gabriel  felt  that  he  could  afford  to  call  on  the  genial 
housekeeper. 

Mrs.  Absalom  had  for  years  been  the  manager  of 
the  Dorrington  household,  and  she  retained  her  place 
even  after  Randolph  Dorrington  had  taken  for  his  sec 
ond  wife  Zepherine  Dion,  who  had  been  known  as  Miss 
Johns,  and  who  was  now  called  Mrs.  Johnny  Dorring 
ton.  In  that  household,  indeed,  Mrs.  Absalom  was  indis 
pensable,  and  it  was  very  fortunate  that  she  and  Mrs. 

[9*  ] 


SILAS    TOM  LIN    GOES    A-CALLING 

Johnny  were  very  fond  of  each  other.  Her  maiden  name 
was  Margaret  Rorick,  and  she  came  of  a  family  that  had 
long  been  attached  to  the  Dorringtons.  In  another  clime, 
and  under  a  different  system,  the  Roricks  would  have 
been  described  as  retainers.  They  were  that  and  much 
more.  They  served  without  fee  or  reward.  They  were 
retainers  in  the  highest  and  best  sense;  for,  in  follow 
ing  the  bent  of  their  affections,  they  retained  their  inde 
pendence,  their  simple  dignity  and  their  self-respect; 
and  in  that  region,  which  was  then,  and  is  now,  the  most  > 
democratic  in  the  world,  they  were  as  well  thought  of 
as  the  Cloptons  or  the  Dorringtons. 

It  came  to  pass,  in  the  order  of  events,  that  Margaret 
Rorick  married  Mr.  Absalom  Goodlett,  who  was  the 
manager  of  the  Dorrington  plantation.  Though  she 
was  no  chicken,  as  she  said  herself,  Mr.  Goodlett  was  her 
senior  by  several  years.  She  was  also,  in  a  sense,  the 
victim  of  the  humour  that  used  to  run  riot  in  Middle 
Georgia;  for,  in  spite  of  her  individuality,  which  was 
vigorous  and  aggressive,  she  lost  her  own  name  and  her 
husband's  too.  At  Margaret  Rorick's  wedding,  or, 
rather,  at  the  in  fair,  which  was  the  feast  after  the  wed 
ding,  Mr.  Uriah  Lazenby,  whose  memory  is  kept  green 
by  his  feats  at  tippling,  and  who  combined  fiddling  with 
farming,  furnished  the  music  for  the  occasion.  Being 
something  of  a  privileged  character,  and  having  taken 
a  thimbleful  too  much  dram,  as  fiddlers  will  do,  the  world 
over,  Mr.  Lazenby  rose  in  his  place,  when  the  company 
had  been  summoned  to  the  feast,  and  remarked: 

"  Margaret  Rorick,  now  that  the  thing's  been  gone 
[95  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

and  done,  and  can't  be  holp,  I  nominate  you  Mrs.  Ab 
salom,  an'  Mrs.  Absalom  it  shall  be  herearter.  Ab  Good- 
lett,  you  ought  to  be  mighty  proud  when  you  can  fling 
your  bridle  on  a  filly  like  that,  an'  lead  her  home  jest 
for  the  bar'  sesso." 

The  loud  laughter  that  followed  placed  the  bride  at 
a  temporary  disadvantage.  She  joined  in,  however,  and 
then  exclaimed :  "  My  goodness !  Old  Uriah's  drunk 
ag'in;  you  can't  pull  a  stopper  out'n  a  jug  in  the  same 
house  wi'  him  but  what  he'll  dribble  at  the  mouth  an' 
git  shaky  in  the  legs." 

But  drunk  or  sober,  Uriah  had  "  nominated  "  Mrs. 
Absalom  for  good  and  all.  One  reason  why  this  "  nomi 
nation  "  was  seized  on  so  eagerly  was  the  sudden  change 
that  had  taken  place  in  Miss  Rorick's  views  in  regard  to 
matrimony.  She  was  more  than  thirty  years  old  when 
she  consented  to  become  Mrs.  Absalom.  Up  to  that  time 
she  had  declared  over  and  over  again  that  there  wasn't 
a  man  in  the  world  she'd  look  at,  much  less  marry. 

Now,  many  a  woman  has  said 'the  same  thing  and 
changed  her  mind  without  attracting  attention ;  but 
Mrs.  Absalom's  views  on  matrimony,  and  her  pithy  criti 
cisms  of  the  male  sex  in  general,  had  flown  about  on  the 
wings  of  her  humour,  and,  in  that  way,  had  come  to 
have  wide  advertisement.  But  her  "  nomination  "  inter 
fered  neither  with  her  individuality,  nor  with  her  ability 
to  indulge  in  pithy  comments  on  matters  and  things  in 
general.  Of  Mr.  Lazcnby,  she  said  later :  "  What's  the 
use  of  choosin'  betwixt  a  fool  an'  a  fiddler,  when  you 
tan  git  both  in  the  same  package  ?  " 

[96] 


SILAS    TOM  LIN    GOES    A-CALLING 

She  made  no  bad  bargain  when  she  married  Mr.  Good- 
lett.  His  irritability  was  all  on  the  surface.  At  bottom, 
he  was  the  best-natured  and  most  patient  of  men — a 
philosopher  who  was  so  thoroughly  contented  with  the 
ways  of  the  world  and  the  order  of  Providence,  that  he 
had  no  desire  to  change  either — and  so  comfortable  in 
his  own  views  and  opinions  that  he  was  not  anxious  to 
convert  others  to  his  way  of  thinking.  If  anything 
went  wrong,  it  was  like  a  garment  turned  inside  out;  it 
would  "  come  out  all  right  in  the  washin'." 

Mrs.  Absalom's  explanation  of  her  change  of  views  in 
the  subject  of  matrimony  was  very  simple  and  reason 
able.  "  Why,  a  single  'oman,"  she  said,  "  can't  cut  no 
caper  at  all;  she  can't  hardly  turn  around  wi'out  bein' 
plumb  tore  to  pieces  by  folks's  tongues.  But  now — you 
see  Ab  over  there?  Well,  he  ain't  purty  enough  for  a 
centre-piece,  nor  light  enough  for  to  be  set  on  the  man 
tel-shelf,  but  it's  a  comfort  to  see  him  in  that  cheer  there, 
knowin'  all  the  time  that  you  can  do  as  you  please,  and 
nobody  dastin  to  say  anything  out  of  the  way.  Why, 
I  could  put  on  Ab's  old  boots  an'  take  his  old  buggy 
umbrell,  an'  go  an'  jine  the  muster.  The  men  might 
snicker  behind  the'r  han's,  but  all  they  could  say  would 
be,  '  Well,  ef  that  kind  of  a  dido  suits  Ab  Goodlett,  it 
ain't  nobody  else's  business.'  " 

It  happened  that  Mr.  Sanders  was  the  person  to  whom 
Mrs.  Absalom  was  addressing  her  remarks,  and  he  in 
quired  if  such  an  unheard  of  proceeding  would  be  likely 
to  suit  Mr.  Goodlett. 

"  To  a  t!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Why,  he  wouldn't  bat 
[97] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

his  eye.  He  mought  grunt  an'  groan  a  little  jest  to  let 
you  know  that  he's  alive,  but  that'd  be  all.  An'  that's 
the  trouble :  ef  Ab  has  any  fault  in  the  world  that  you 
can  put  your  finger  on,  it's  in  bein'  too  good.  You 
know,  William — anyhow,  you'd  know  it  ef  you  belonged 
to  my  seek — that  there's  lots  of  times  and  occasions  when 
it'd  make  the  wimmen  folks  feel  lots  better  ef  they  had 
somethin'  or  other  to  rip  and  rare  about.  My  old  cat 
goes  about  purrin',  the  very  spit  and  image  of  innocence ; 
but  she'd  die  ef  she  didn't  show  her  claws  sometimes. 
Once  in  awhile  I  try  my  level  best  for  to  pick  a  quarrel 
wi'  Ab,  but  before  I  say  a  dozen  words,  I  look  at  him 
an'  have  to  laugh.  Why  the  way  that  man  sets  there 
an'  says  nothin'  is  enough  to  make  a  saint  ashamed  of 
hissclf." 

It  was  the  general  opinion  that  Mr.  Goodlett,  who 
was  shrewd  and  far-seeing  beyond  the  average,  had  an 
eye  to  strengthening  his  relations  with  Dr.  Dorrington, 
when  he  "  popped  the  question  "  to  Margaret  Rorick. 
But  such  was  not  the  case.  His  relations  needed  no 
strengthening.  He  managed  Dorrington's  agricultural 
interests  with  uncommon  ability,  and  brought  rare  pros 
perity  to  the  plantation.  Unlettered,  and,  to  all  ap 
pearances,  taking  no  interest  in  public  affairs,  he  not 
only  foresaw  the  end  of  the  Civil  War,  but  looked  for 
ward  to  the  time  when  the  Confederate  Government, 
pressed  for  supplies,  would  urge  upon  the  States  the 
necessity  of  limiting  the  raising  of  cotton. 

He  gave  both  Meriwether  Clopton  and  Neighbour 
Tomlin  the  benefit  of  these  views;  and  then,  when  the 

[  98  ] 


SILAS    TOM  LIN    GOES    A-CALLING 

rumours  of  Sherman's  march  through  Georgia  grew 
rifer  he  made  a  shrewd  guess  as  to  the  route,  and  suc 
ceeded  in  hiding  out  and  saving,  not  only  all  the  cotton 
the  three  plantations  had  grown,  but  also  all  the  live 
stock.  /Having  an  ingrained  suspicion  of  the  negroes, 
and  entertaining  against  them  the  prejudices  of  his 
class,  Mr.  Goodlett  employed  a  number  of  white  boys 
from  the  country  districts  to  aid  him  with  his  refugee 
train.  And  he  left  them  in  charge  of  the  camp  he  had 
selected,  knowing  full  well  that  they  would  be  glad  to 
remain  in  hiding  as  long  as  the  Federal  soldiers  were 
about. 

The  window  of  the  dining-room  at  Dorringtons'  com 
manded  a  view  of  the  street  for  a  considerable  distance 
toward  town,  and  it  was  at  this  window  that  Mrs.  Ab 
salom  had  her  favourite  seat.  She  explained  her  prefer 
ence  for  it  by  saying  that  she  wanted  to  know  what  was 
going  on  in  the  world.  She  looked  out  from  this  win 
dow  one  day  while  she  was  talking  to  Gabriel  Tollivcr, 
whose  visits  to  Dorringtons'  had  come  to  be  coincident 
with  Nan's  absence,  and  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"  Well,  my  gracious !  Ef  yonder  ain't  old  Picayune 
Pauper !  I  wonder  what  we  have  done  out  this  way  that 
old  Picayune  should  be  sneakin'  around  here?  I'll  tell 
you  what — ef  Ab  has  borried  arry  thrip  from  old  Silas 
Tomlin,  I'll  quit  him ;  I  won't  live  wi'  a  man  that'll  have 
anything  to  do  wi'  that  old  scamp.  As  I'm  a  livin'  hu 
man,  he's  comin'  here !  " 

Now,  Silas  Tomlin  was  Neighbour  Tomlin's  elder 
brother,  but  the  two  men  were  as  different  in  character 

[99] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

and  disposition  as  a  warm  bright  day  is  different  from 
a  bitter  black  night.  Pulaski  Tomlin  gave  his  services 
freely  to  all  who  needed  them,  and  he  was  happy  and 
prosperous;  whereas  Silas  was  a  miserly  money-lender 
and  note-shaver,  and  always  appeared  to  be  in  the 
clutches  of  adversity.  To  parsimony  he  added  the  sting 
— yes,  and  the  stain — of  a  peevish  and  an  irritable 
temper.  It  was  as  Mrs.  Absalom  had  said — "  a  picayu- 
nish  man  is  a  pauper,  I  don't  care  how  much  money 
he's  got." 

"  I'll  go  see  ef  Johnny  is  in  the  house,"  said  Mrs. 
Absalom.  "  Johnny  "  was  Mrs.  Dorrington,  who,  in 
turn,  called  Mrs.  Absalom  "  Nonny,"  which  was  Nan's 
pet  name  for  the  woman  who  had  raised  her — "  I'll  go 
see,  but  I  lay  she's  gone  to  see  Nan ;  I  never  before  seed 
a  step-mammy  so  wroppcd  up  in  her  husband's  daugh 
ter."  Nan,  as  has  been  said,  was  spending  a  few  days 
with  poor  Margaret  Bridalbin,  whose  mother  had  just 
been  buried. 

Mrs.  Absalom  called  Mrs.  Dorrington,  and  then  looked 
for  her,  but  she  was  not  to  be  found  at  the  moment.  "  I 
reckon  you'll  have  to  go  to  the  door,  Gabe,"  said  Mrs. 
Absalom,  as  the  knocker  sounded.  "  Sence  freedom,  we 
ain't  got  as  many  niggers  lazyin'  around  an'  doin'  nothin' 
*"  as  we  use  to  have." 

"Is  Mr.  Goodlett  in?"  asked  Silas  Tomlin,  when 
Gabriel  opened  the  door. 

"  I  think  he's  in  Malvern,"  Gabriel  answered,  as  po 
litely  as  he  could. 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  exclaimed  Silas  Tomlin,  with  a  terrible 
[  100  ] 


SILAS    TOMLIN    G  O  ES    A  -  C  A  I  L  I  N  G 

frown;  "  you  don't  know  a  thing  about  it,  not  a  thing 
in  the  "world.  He  got  back  right  after  dinner.'* 

"  Well,  ef  he  did,"  said  Mrs.  Absalom,  coming  for 
ward,  "  he  didn't  come  here.  He  ain't  cast  a  shadow  in 
this  house  sence  day  before  yistiddy,  when  he  went  to 
Malvern." 

"  How  are  you,  Mrs.  Absalom? — how  are  you?  "  said 
Silas,  with  a  tremendous  effort  at  politeness.  "  I  hope 
you  are  well;  you  are  certainly  looking  well.  You  say 
your  husband  is  not  in?  Well,  I'm  sorry;  I  wanted  to 
see  him  on  business ;  I  wanted  to  get  some  information." 

"  Ab  don't  owe  you  anything,  I  hope,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Absalom,  ignoring  the  salutation. 

"  Not  a  thing — not  a  thing  in  the  world.  But  why 
do  you  ask  ?  Many  people  have  the  idea  that  I'm  rolling 
in  money — that's  what  I  hear — and  they  think  that  I 
go  about  loaning  it  to  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry.  But  it 
is  not  so — it  is  not  so ;  I  have  no  money." 

Mrs.  Absalom  laughed  ironically,  saying,  "  I  reckon 
if  your  son  Paul  was  to  scratch  about  under  the  house, 
he'd  find  small  change  about  in  places." 

Silas  Tomlin  looked  hard  at  Mrs.  Absalom,  his  little 
black  eyes  glistening  under  his  coarse,  heavy  eyebrows 
like  those  of  some  wild  animal.  He  was  not  a  prepossess 
ing  man.  He  was  so  bald  that  he  was  compelled  to  wear 
a  skull-cap,  and  the  edge  of  this  showed  beneath  the  brim 
of  his  chimney-pot  hat.  His  face  needed  a  razor;  and 
the  grey  beard  coming  through  the  cuticle,  gave  a 
ghastly,  bluish  tint  to  the  pallor  of  his  countenance. 
His  broadcloth  coat — Mrs.  Absalom  called  it  a  "  shad- 

r  101  j 


GAB.KIEL    TOLLIVER 

belly 'V- -was- greasy  -at  the  collar,  and  worn  at  the 
seams,  and  his  waistcoat  was  stained  with  ambeer.  His 
trousers,  which  were  much  too  large  for  him,  bagged 
at  the  knees,  and  his  boots  were  run  down  at  the  heels. 
Though  he  was  temperate  to  the  last  degree,  he  had 
the  appearance  of  a  man  who  is  the  victim  of  some  arti 
ficial  stimulant. 

"  What  put  that  idea  in  your  head,  Mrs.  Goodlett?  " 
he  asked,  after  looking  long  and  searchingly  at  Mrs. 
Absalom. 

"  Well,  I  allowed  that  when  you  was  countin'  out  your 
cash,  a  thrip  or  two  mought  have  slipped  through  the 
cracks  in  the  floor,"  she  replied ;  "  sech  things  have  hap 
pened  before  now." 

He  wiped  his  thin  lips  with  his  lean  forefinger,  and 
stood  hesitating,  whereupon  Mrs.  Absalom  remarked: 
"  It  sha'n't  cost  you  a  cent  ef  you'll  come  in.  Ab'll  be 
here  purty  soon  ef  somebody  ain't  been  fool  enough  to 
give  him  his  dinner.  His  health'll  fail  him  long  before 
his  appetite  does.  Show  Mr.  Tomlin  in  the  parlour,  Ga 
briel,  an'  I'll  see  about  Ab's  dinner;  I  don't  want  it  to 
burn  to  a  cracklin'  before  he  gits  it." 

Silas  Tomlin  went  into  the  parlour  and  sat  down,  while 
Gabriel  stood  hesitating,  not  knowing  what  to  do  or 
say.  He  was  embarrassed,  and  Silas  Tomlin  saw  it. 
"  Oh,  take  a  seat,"  he  said,  with  a  show  of  impatience. 
"  What  are  you  doing  for  yourself,  Tolliver  ?  You're 
a  big  boy  now,  and  you  ought  to  be  making  good  money. 
We'll  all  have  to  work  now:  we'll  have  to  buckle  right 
down  to  it.  The  way  I  look  at  it,  the  man  who  is  doing 

[  102  1 


SILAS    TOMLIN    GOES    A-CALLING 

nothing  is  throwing  money  away;  yes,  sir,  throwing 
it  away.  What  does  Adam  Smith  say?  Why,  he 
says " 

Gabriel  never  found  out  what  particular  statement  of 
Adam  Smith  was  to  be  thrown  at  his  head,  for  at  that 
moment,  Mr.  Goodlett  called  out  from  the  dining-room : 
"  Si  Tomlin  in  there,  Gabriel?  Well,  fetch  him  out  here 
whar  I  live  at.  I  ain't  got  no  parlours  for  company." 
By  the  time  that  Gabriel  had  led  Mr.  Silas  Tomlin  into 
the  dining-room,  Mr.  Goodlett  had  a  plate  of  victuals 
carrying  it  to  the  kitchen ;  and  he  remarked  as  he  went 
along,  "  I  got  nuther  parlours  nor  dinin'-rooms :  fetch 
him  out  here  to  the  kitchen  whar  we  both  b'long  at." 

If  Silas  Tomlin  objected  to  this  arrangement,  he  gave 
no  sign ;  he  followed  without  a  word,  Mr.  Goodlett  placed 
his  plate  on  the  table  where  the  dishes  were  washed,  and 
dropped  his  hat  on  the  floor  beside  him,  and  began  to 
attack  his  dinner  most  vigorously.  Believing,  evidently, 
that  ordinary  politeness  would  be  wasted  here,  Silas  en 
tered  at  once  on  the  business  that  had  brought  him  to 
Dorringtons'. 

"  Sorry  to  trouble  you,  Goodlett,"  he  said  by  way  of 
making  a  beginning. 

"  I  notice  you  ain't  cryin'  none  to  hurt,"  remarked 
Mr.  Goodlett  placidly.  "  An'  ef  you  was,  you'd  be  cryin' 
for  nothin'.  You  ain't  troublin'  me  a  mite.  Forty  an' 
four  like  you  can't  trouble  me." 

"  You'll  have  to  excuse  Ab,"  said  Mrs.  Goodlett,  who 
had  preceded  Gabriel  and  Silas  to  the  kitchen.  "  He's 
lost  his  cud,  an'  he  won't  be  right  well  till  he  finds  it 

[  103  ] 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

ag'in."  She  placed  her  hand  over  her  mouth  to  hide  her 
smiles. 

Silas  Tomlin  paid  no  attention  to  this  by-play.  He 
stood  like  a  man  who  is  waiting  an  opportunity  to  get 
in  a  word. 

"  Goodlett,  who  were  the  ladies  you  brought  from 
Malvern  to-day?  "  His  face  was  very  serious. 

"  You  know  'em  lots  better'n  I  do.  The  oldest  seed 
you  out  in  the  field,  an'  she  axed  me  who  you  mought 
be.  I  told  her,  bekaze  I  ain't  got  no  secrets  from  my 
passengers,  specially  when  they're  good-lookin'  an'  plank 
down  the'r  money  before  they  start.  Arter  I  told  'em 
who  you  was,  the  oldest  made  you  a  mighty  purty  bow, 
but  you  wer'n't  polite  enough  for  to  take  off  your  hat. 
I  dunno  as  I  blame  you  much,  all  things  considered. 
Then  the  youngest,  she's  the  daughter,  she  says,  says 
she,  '  Is  that  reely  him,  ma?  '  an'  t'other  one,  says  she, 
'  Ef  it's  him,  honey,  he's  swunk  turrible.'  She  said  them 
very  words." 

"  I  wonder  who  in  the  world  they  can  be  ?  "  said  Silas 
Tomlin,  as  if  talking  to  himself. 

"  You'll  think  of  the'r  names  arter  awhile,"  Mr.  Good 
lett  remarked  by  way  of  consolation,  but  his  tone  was  so 
suspicious  that  Silas  turned  on  his  heel — he  had  started 
out — and  asked  Mr.  Goodlett  what  he  meant. 

"  Adzackly  what  I  said,  nuther  more  nor  less." 

Mrs.  Absalom  was  so  curious  to  find  out  something 
more  that  Silas  was  hardly  out  of  the  house  before  she 
began  to  ply  her  husband  with  questions.  But  they 
were  all  futile.  Mr.  Goodlett  knew  no  more  than  that 

f  104  1 


SILAS    TOM  LIN    GOES    A -CALLING 

he  had  brought  the  women  from  Malvern;  that  they 
had  chanced  to  spy  old  Silas  Tomlin  in  a  field  by  the 
side  of  the  road,  and  that  when  the  elder  of  the  two 
women  found  out  what  his  name  was,  she  made  him  a 
bow,  which  Silas  wasn't  polite  enough  to  return. 

"  That's  all  I  know,"  remarked  Mr.  Goodlett.  "  Dog 
take  the  wimmen  anyhow !  "  he  exclaimed  indignantly ; 
"  ef  they'd  stay  at  home  they'd  be  all  right ;  bujt  here 
they  go,  a-trapesin'  an'  a-trollopin'  all  over  creation,  an' 
a-givin'  trouble  wherever  they  go.  They  git  me  so  mud 
dled  an'  befuddled  wi'  ther  whickerin'  an'  snickerin'  that 
I  dunner  which  een'  I'm  a-stannin'  on  half  the  time.  Nex' 
time  they  want  to  ride  wi'  me,  I'll  say,  '  Walk ! '  By 
jacks!  I  won't  haul  'em." 

This  episode,  if  it  may  be  called  such,  made  small  im 
pression  on  Gabriel's  mind,  but  it  tickled  Mrs.  Goodlett's 
mind  into  activity,  and  the  lad  heard  more  of  Silas 
Tomlin  during  the  next  hour  than  he  had  ever  known  be 
fore.  In  a  manner,  Silas  was  a  very  important  factor 
in  the  community,  as  money-lenders  always  are,  but 
according  to  Gabriel's  idea,  he  was  always  one  of  the 
poorest  creatures  in  the  world. 

When  he  was  a  young  man,  Silas  joined  the  tide  of 
emigration  that  was  flowing  westward.  He  went  to 
Mississippi,  where  he  married  his  first  wife.  In  a  year's 
time,  he  returned  to  his  old  home.  When  asked  about 
his  wife — for  he  returned  alone — he  curtly  answered  that 
she  was  well  enough  off.  Mrs.  Absalom  was  among  those 
who  made  the  inquiry,  and  her  prompt  comment  was, 
"  She's  well  off  ef  she's  dead ;  I'll  say  that  much." 

f    105   1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

But  there  was  a  persistent  rumour,  coming  from  no 
one  knew  where,  that  when  a  child  was  born  to  Silas, 
the  wife  was  seized  with  such  a  horror  of  the  father  that 
the  bare  sight  of  him  would  cause  her  to  scream,  and  she 
constantly  implored  her  people  to  send  him  away.  It 
is  curious  how  rumours  will  travel  far  and  wide,  from 
State  to  State,  creeping  through  swamps,  flying  over 
deserts  and  waste  places,  and  coming  home  at  last  as 
the  carrier-pigeon  does,  especially  if  there  happens  to 
be  a  grain  of  truth  in  them. 

It  turned  out  that  the  lady,  in  regard  to  whom  Silas 
Tomlin  expressed  such  curiosity,  was  a  Mrs.  Claiborne, 
of  Kentucky,  who,  with  her  daughter,  had  refugeed  from 
point  to  point  in  advance  of  the  Federal  army.  Finally, 
when  peace  came,  the  lady  concluded  to  make  her  home 
in  Georgia,  where  she  had  relatives,  and  she  selected 
Shady  Dale  as  her  place  of  abode  on  account  of  its 
beauty.  These  facts  became  known  later. 

Evidently  the  new-comers  had  resources,  for  they  ar 
ranged  to  occupy  the  Gaither  house,  taking  it  as  it  stood, 
with  Miss  Polly  Gaither,  furniture  and  all.  This  ar 
rangement  must  have  been  satisfactory  to  Miss  Polly  in 
the  first  place,  or  it  would  never  have  been  made;  and 
it  certainly  relieved  her  of  the  necessity  of  living  on  the 
charity  of  her  neighbours,  under  pretence  of  borrowing 
from  them.  But  so  strange  a  bundle  of  contradictions 
is  human  nature,  that  no  sooner  had  Miss  Polly  begun 
to  enjoy  the  abundance  that  was  now  showered  upon  her 
in  the  shape  of  victuals  and  drink  than  she  took  her  ear- 
trumpet  in  one  hand  and  her  work-bag  in  the  other,  and 
went  abroad,  gossiping  about  her  tenants,  telling  what 

r  106 1 


SILAS    TOM  LIN    GOES    A- CALL ING 

she  thought  they  said,  and  commenting  on  their  actions 
— not  maliciously,  but  simply  with  a  desire  to  feed  the 
curiosity  of  the  neighbours. 

In  order  to  do  this  more  effectually,  Miss  Polly  re 
turned  visits  that  had  been  made  to  her  before  the  war. 
There  was  nothing  in  her  talk  to  discredit  the  Claibornes 
or  to  injure  their  characters.  They  were  strangers  to 
the  community,  and  there  was  a  natural  and  perfectly 
legitimate  curiosity  on  the  part  of  the  town  to  learn 
something  of  their  history.  Miss  Polly  could  not  satisfy 
this  curiosity,  but  she  could  whet  it  by  leaving  at  each 
one's  door  choice  selections  from  her  catalogue  of  the 
sayings  and  doings  of  the  new-comers — wearing  all  the 
time  a  dress  that  Miss  Eugenia,  the  daughter,  had  made 
over  for  her.  Miss  Polly  was  a  dumpy  little  woman,  and, 
with  her  wen,  her  ear-trumpet,  and  her  work-bag,  she 
cut  a  queer  figure  as  she  waddled  along. 

There  was  one  piece  of  information  she  gave  out  that 
puzzled  the  community  no  little.  According  to  Miss 
Polly,  the  Claibornes  had  hardly  settled  themselves  in 
their  new  home  before  Silas  Tomlin  called  on  them.  "  I 
can't  hear  as  well  as  I  used  to,"  said  Miss  Polly — she 
was  deaf  as  a  door-post — "  but  I  can  see  as  well  as  any 
body  ;  yes  indeed,  as  well  as  anybody  in  the  world.  And 
I  tell  you,  Lucy  Lumsden  " — she  was  talking  to  Gabriel's 
grandmother — "  as  soon  as  old  Silas  darkened  the  door, 
I  knew  he  was  worried.  I  never  saw  a  grown  person  so 
fidgety  and  nervous,  unless  it  was  Micajah  Clemmons, 
and  he's  got  the  rickets,  poor  man.  So  I  says  to  myself, 
'  I'll  watch  you,'  and  watch  I  did.  Well,  when  Mrs. 
Claiborne  came  into  the  parlour,  she  bowed  very  politely 

[  107  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

to  old  Silas,  but  I  could  see  that  slie  could  hardly  keep 
from  laughing  in  his  face;  and  I  don't  blame  her,  for 
the  way  old  Silas  went  on  was  perfectly  ridiculous.  He 
spit  and  he  spluttered,  and  sawed  the  air  with  his  arms, 
and  buttoned  and  unbuttoned  his  coat,  and  jerked  at 
the  bottom  of  his  wescut  till  I  really  thought  he'd  pull 
the  front  out.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  him,  Lucy 
Lumsden,  I  do  indeed.  And  when  the  door  was  shut  on 
him,  Mrs.  Claiborne  flung  herself  down  on  a  sofa,  and 
laughed  until  she  frightened  her  daughter.  I  don't  com 
plain  about  my  afflictions  as  a  general  thing,  Lucy,  but 
I  would  have  given  anything  that  day  if  my  hearing  had 
been  as  good  as  it  used  to  be." 

And  though  Gabriel's  grandmother  was  a  woman  of 
the  highest  principles,  holding  eavesdropping  in  the 
greatest  contempt,  it  is  possible  that  she  would  have 
owned  to  a  mild  regret  that  Miss  Polly  Gaither  was  too 
deaf  to  hear  what  Silas  Tomlin's  troubles  were.  This 
was  natural,  too,  for,  on  account  of  the  persistent  ru 
mours  that  had  followed  Silas  home  from  Mississippi, 
there  was  always  something  of  a  mystery  in  regard  to 
his  first  matrimonial  venture.  There  was  none  about  his 
second.  A  year  or  two  after  he  returned  home  he  mar 
ried  Susan  Pritchard,  whose  father  was  a  prosperous 
farmer,  living  several  miles  from  town.  Susan  bore  Silas 
a  son  and  died.  She  was  a  pious  woman,  and  with  her 
last  breath  named  the  child  Paul,  on  account  of  the  con 
junction  of  the  names  of  Paul  and  Silas  in  the  New 
Testament.  Paul  grew  up  to  be  one  of  the  most  popular 
young  men  in  the  community. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 


The  Political  Machine  Begins  its  Work 

ALL  that  has  been  set  down  thus  far,  you  will  say,  is 
trifling,  unimportant  and  wearisome.  Your  decision  is 
not  to  be  disputed;  but  if,  by  an  effort  of  the  mind, 
you  could  throw  yourself  back  to  those  dread  days,  you 
would  understand  what  a  diversion  these  trifling  events 
and  episodes  created  for  the  heart-stricken  and  soul- 
weary  people  of  that  region.  The  death  of  Margaret 
Bridalbin  moved  them  to  pity,  and  awoke  in  their  minds 
pleasing  memories  of  happier  days,  when  peace  and 
prosperity  held  undisputed  sway  in  all  directions.  The 
arrival  of  the  Claibornes  had  much  the  same  effect.  It 
gave  the  community  something  to  talk  about,  and,  in  a 
small  measure,  took  them  out  of  themselves.  Moreover, 
the  Claibornes,  mother  and  daughter,  proved  to  be  very 
attractive  additions  to  the  town's  society.  They  were 
both  bright  and  good-humoured,  and  the  daughter  was 
very  beautiful. 

To  a  people  overwhelmed  with  despair,  the  most 
trifling  episode  becomes  curiously  magnified.  The  case 
of  Mr.  Goodlett  is  very  much  to  the  point.  He  was  mere 
ly  an  individual,  it  is  true,  but  in  some  respects  an  indi 
vidual  represents  the  mass.  When  Sherman's  men 

[  109  ] 


. 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

hanged  him  to  a  limb,  under  the  mistaken  notion  that 
he  was  the  custodian  of  the  Clopton  plate,  the  last  thing 
he  remembered  as  he  lost  consciousness,  was  the  ticking 
of  his  watch.  It  sounded  in  his  ears,  he  said,  as  loud  as 
the  blows  of  a  sledge-hammer  falling  on  an  anvil.  From 
that  day  until  he  died,  he  never  could  bear  to  hear  the 
ticking  of  a  watch.  He  gave  his  time-piece  to  his  wife, 
ho  put  it  away  with  her  other  relics  and  treasures. 
How  it  was  with  other  communities  it  is  not  for  this 
chronicler  to  say,  but  the  collapse  of  the  Confederacy, 
coming  when  it  did,  was  an  event  that  Shady  Dale  least 
expected.  The  last  trump  will  cause  no  greater  surprise 
and  consternation  the  world  over,  tKan  the  news  of  Lee's 
surrender  caused  in  that  region.  (The  public  mind  had 
not  been  prepared  for  such  an  event,  especially  in  those 
districts  remote  from  the  centres  of  information.  Al 
most  every  piece  of  news  printed  in  the  journals  of  the 
day  was  coloured  with  the  prospect  of  ultimate  victory : 
and  when  the  curtain  suddenly  came  down  and  the  lights 
went  out,  no  language  can  describe  the  grief,  the  de 
spair,  and  the  feeling  of  abject  humiliation  that  fell 
upon  the  white  population  in  the  small  towns  and  vil 
lage  communities.  How  it  was  in  the  cities  has  not  been 
recorded,  but  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  then,  as  now, 
the  demands  and  necessities  of  trade  and  business  were 
powerful  enough  to  overcome  and  destroy  the  worst 
effects  of  a  calamity  that  attacked  the  sentiments  and 
emotions. 

It  has  been  demonstrated  recently  on  some  very  wide 
fields  of  action  that  the  atmosphere  of  commercialism 


POLITICAL     MACHINE     AT    WORK 

is  unfavourable  to  the  growth  of  sentiments  of  an  ideal 
character.  That  is  why  wise  men  who  believe  in  the 
finer  issues  of  life  are  inclined  to  be  suspicious  of  what 
is  loosely  called  civilisation  and  progress,  and  doubtful 
of  the  theories  of  those  who  clothe  themselves  in  the  man 
tle  of  science. 

Whatever  the  feeling  in  the  cities  may  have  been  when 
news  of  the  surrender  came,  it  caused  the  most  poignant 
grief  and  despair  in  the  country  places :  and  there,  as 
elsewhere  in  this  world,  whenever  suffering  is  to  be  borne, 
the  most  of  the  burden  falls  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
women.  It  is  at  once  the  strength  and  weakness  of  the 
sex  that  woman  suffers  more  than  man  and  is  more 
capable  of  enduring  the  pangs  of  suffering. 

As  for  the  men  they  soon  recovered  from  the  shock. 
They  were  startled  and  stunned,  but  when  they  opened 
their  eyes  to  the  situation  they  found  themselves  con 
fronted  by  conditions  that  had  no  precedent  or  parallel 
in  the  history  of  the  world.  It  is  small  fault  if  their 
minds  failed  at  first  to  grasp  the  significance  and  the 
import  of  these  conditions,  so  new  were  they  and  so 
amazing. 

A  few  years  later,  Gabriel  Tolliver,  who,  when  the 
surrender  came,  was  a  lad  just  beyond  seventeen,  took 
himself  severely  to  task  before  a  public  assemblage  for 
his  blindness  in  1865,  and  the  years  immediately  follow 
ing;  and  his  criticisms  must  have  gone  home  to  others, 
for  the  older  men  who  sat  in  the  audience  rose  to  their 
feet  and  shook  the  house  with  their  applause.  They,  too, 
had  been  as  blind  as  the  boy. 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

It  was  perhaps  well  for  Shady  Dale  that  Mr.  Sanders 
came  home  when  he  did.  He  had  been  in  the  field,  if 
not  on  the  forum.  He  had  mingled  with  public  men, 
and,  as  he  himself  contended,  had  been  "  closeted  "  with 
one  of  the  greatest  men  the  country  ever  produced — the 
reference  being  to  Mr.  Lincoln.  Mr.  Sanders  had  to  tell 
over  and  over  again  the  story  of  how  he  and  Frank 
Bethune  didn't  kidnap  the  President;  and  he  brought 
home  hundreds  of  rich  and  racy  anecdotes  that  he  had 
picked  up  in  the  camp.  In  those  awful  days  when  there 
was  little  ready  money  to  be  had,  and  business  was  at 
a  standstill,  and  the  courts  demoralised,  and  the  whole 
social  fabric  threatening  to  fall  to  pieces,  it  was  Mr. 
Billy  Sanders  who  went  around  scattering  cheerfulness 
and  good-humour  as  carelessly  as  the  children  scatter 
the  flowers  they  have  gathered  in  the  fields. 

Mr.  Sanders  and  Francis  Bethune  had  formed  a  part 
of  the  escort  that  went  with  Mr.  Davis  as  far  as  Wash 
ington  in  Wilkes  County.  On  this  account,  Mr.  Sanders 
boasted  that  at  the  last  meeting  of  the  Confederate 
Cabinet  held  in  that  town,  he  had  elected  himself  a  mem 
ber,  and  was  duly  installed.  "  It  was  the  same,"  he 
used  to  say,  "  as  j'inin'  the  Free-masons.  The  door 
keeper  gi'  me  the  grip  an'  the  pass-word,  the  head  man 
of  the  war  department  knocked  me  on  the  forrerd,  an' 
the  thing  was  done.  When  Mr.  Davis  was  ready  to  go, 
he  took  me  by  the  hand,  an'  says,  '  William,'  says  he, 
'  keep  house  for  the  boys  till  I  git  back,  an'  be  shore 
that  you  cheer  'em  up.'  " 

This  sort  of  nonsense  served  its  purpose,  as  Mr. 
[  112  ] 


POLITICAL     MACHINE     AT    WORK 

Sanders  intended  that  it  should.  Wherever  he  appeared 
on  the  streets  a  crowd  gathered  around  him — as  large  a 
crowd  as  the  town  could  furnish.  To  a  spectator  stand 
ing  a  little  distance  away  and  out  of  hearing,  the  atti 
tude  and  movements  of  these  groups  presented  a  singular 
appearance.  The  individuals  would  move  about  and 
swap  places,  trying  to  get  closer  to  Mr.  Sanders.  There 
would  be  a  period  of  silence,  and  then,  suddenly,  loud 
shouts  of  laughter  would  rend  the  air.  Such  a  specta 
tor,  if  a  stranger,  might  easily  have  imagined  that  these 
men  and  boys,  standing  close  together,  and  shouting 
with  laughter  at  intervals,  were  engaged  in  practising 
a  part  to  be  presented  in  a  rural  comedy — or  that  they 
were  a  parcel  of  simpletons. 

One  peculiarity  of  Mr.  Sanders's  humour  was  that 
it  could  not  be  imitated  with  any  degree  of  success.  His 
raciest  anecdote  lost  a  large  part  of  its  flavour  when 
repeated  by  some  one  else.  It  was  the  way  he  told  it,  a 
cut  of  the  eye,  a  lift  of  the  eyebrow,  a  movement  of  the 
hand,  a  sudden  air  of  solemnity — these  wrere  the  acces 
sories  that  gave  point  and  charm  to  the  humour. 

Mr.  Sanders  had  cut  out  a  very  large  piece  of  work 
for  himself.  He  kept  it  up  for  some  time,  but  he  gradu 
ally  allowed  himself  longer  and.  longer  intervals  of 
seriousness.  1  The  multitude  of  problems  growing  out  of 
the  new  and  strange  conditions  were  of  a  thought-com 
pelling  nature ;  and  they  grew  larger  and  more  ominous 
as  the  days  went  by.  Gabriel  Tolliver  might  take  to 
the  woods,  as  the  saying  is,  and  so  escape  from  the  pre 
vailing  depression.  But  Mr.  Sanders  and  the  rest  of 

[  113  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

the  men  had  no  such  resource ;  responsibility  sat  on  their 
shoulders,  and  they  were  compelled  to  face  the  conditions 
and  study  them.  Gabriel  could  sit  on  the  fence  by  the 
roadside,  and  see  neither  portent  nor  peril  in  the  groups 
and  gangs  of  negroes  passing  and  repassing,  and  mov 
ing  restlessly  to  and  fro,  some  with  bundles  and  some 
with  none.  He  watched  them,  as  he  afterward  com 
plained,  with  a  curiosity  as  idle  as  that  which  moves  a 
little  child  to  watch  a  swarm  of  ants.  He  noticed,  how- 

4-  ever,  that  the  negroes  were  no  longer  cheerful.  Their 
child-like  gaiety  had  vanished.  In  place  of  their  loud 
laughter,  their  boisterous  play,  and  their  songs  welling 
forth  and  filling  the  twilight  places  with  sweet  melodies, 
there  was  silence.  Gabriel  had  no  reason  to  regard 

j     this  silence  as  ominous,  but  it  was  so  regarded  by  his 
elders. 

He  thought  that  the  restless  and  uneasy  movements 
of  the  negroes  were  perfectly  natural.  They  had  sud 
denly  come  to  the  knowledge  that  they  were  free,  and 
they  were  testing  the  nature  and  limits  of  their  free 
dom.  They  desired  to  find  out  its  length  and  its  breadth. 
So  much  was  clear  to  Gabriel,  but  it  was  not  clear  to 
his  elders.  And  what  a  pity  that  it  was  not!  How 
many  mistakes  would  have  been  avoided !  What  a  dread 
ful  tangle  and  turmoil  would  have  been  prevented  if  these 
grown  children  could  have  been  judged  from  Gabriel's 
point  of  view !  For  the  boy's  interpretation  of  the  rest 
lessness  and  uneasiness  of  the  blacks  was  the  correct  one. 
Your  historians  will  tell  you  that  the  situation  was  extra 
ordinary  and  full  of  peril.  Well,  extraordinary,  if  you 

f    114  ] 


POLITICAL    MACHINE    AT    WORK 

will,  but  not  perilous.  Gabriel  could  never  be  brought 
to  believe  that  there  was  anything  to  be  dreaded  in  the 
attitude  of  the  blacks.  What  he  scored  himself  for  in 
the  days  to  come  was  that  his  interest  in  the  matter  never 
rose  above  the  idle  curiosity  of  a  boy. 

And  yet  there  were  some  developments  calculated  to 
pique  curiosity.  A  few  years  before  the  war,  one  of 
Madame  Awtry's  nephews  from  Massachusetts  came  in 
to  the  neighbourhood  preaching  freedom  to  the  negroes. 
As  a  result,  a  large  body  of  the  Clopton  negroes  gath 
ered  around  the  house  one  morning  with  many  breath 
ings  and  mutter  ings.  Uncle  Plato,  the  carriage-driver, 
went  to  his  master  with  a  very  grave  face,  and  announced 
that  the  hands,  instead  of  going  to  work',  had  come  in  a 
body  to  the  house. 

"  Well,  go  and  see  what  they  want,  Plato,"  said  the 
master  of  the  Clopton  Place. 

" 1  done  ax  um  dat,  suh,"  replied  Uncle  Plato,  "  an' 
dcy  say  p'intedly  dat  dey  want  ter  see  you." 

"  Very  well ;    where  is  Mr.  Sanders  ?  " 

"  He  out  dar,  suh,  makin'  fun  un  um." 

When  Meriwether  Clopton  went  out,  he  was  told  by 
old  man  Isaiah,  the  foreman  of  the  field-hands,  that  the 
boys  didn't  want  to  be  "  Bledserd."  It  was  some  time 
before  the  master  could  understand  what  the  old  man— f 
meant,  but  Mr.  Sanders  finally  made  it  clear,  and  Meri 
wether  Clopton  sent  the  negroes  about  their  business  with 
a  promise  that  none  of  them  should  ever  be  "  Bledserd  " 
by  his  consent. 

A  year  or  two  before  this  "  rising  "  occurred,  Gen- 

[    "5    ] 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

eral  Jesse  Bledsoc  had  died  leaving  a  will,  by  the  terms 
of  which  all  his  negroes  were  given  their  freedom,  and 
provision  was  made  for  their  transportation  to  a  free 
State.  But  the  General  had  relatives,  who  put  in  their 
claims,  and  succeeded  in  breaking  the  will,  with  the  result 
that  many  of  the  negroes  were  carried  to  the  West  and 
Southwest,  bringing  about  a  wholesale  separation  of 
families,  the  first  that  had  ever  occurred  in  that  section. 
The  impression  it  made  on  both  whites  and  negroes  was 
a  lasting  one.  In  the  minds  of  the  blacks,  freedom  was 
only  another  name  for  "  Blcdserin'." 

Nevertheless,  when,  after  the  collapse  of  the  Confed 
eracy  and  the  advent  of  Sherman's  army,  the  Clopton 
negroes  were  told  that  they  were  free,  a  large  number  of 
them  joined  the  restless,  migratory  throng  that  passed 
to  and  fro  along  the  public  highway,  some  coming,  some 
going,  but  all  moved  by  the  same  irresistible  impulse  to 
test  their  freedom — to  see  if  they  really  could  come  hither 
and  go  yonder  without  let  or  hinderance.  Uncle  Plato 
and  his  family,  with  a  dozen  others  who  were  sagacious 
enough  to  follow  the  old  man's  example,  remained  in 
their  places  and  fared  better  than  the  rest. 

For  a  time  Shady  Dale  rested  peacefully  in  its  seclu 
sion,  watching  the  course  of  events  with  apparent  tran 
quillity.  But  behind  this  appearance  of  repose  there  was 
a  good  deal  of  restlessness  and  uneasiness.  Sometimes 
its  bosom  (so  to  speak)  was  inflamed  with  anger,  and 
sometimes  it  would  be  sunk  in  despair.  One  of  the  events 
that  brought  Shady  Dale  closer  to  the  troubles  that  the 
newspapers  were  full  of,  was  a  circular  letter  issued  by 

[  116  I 


POLITICAL     MACHINE     AT    WORK 

Major  Tomlin  Perdue,  of  Haley ondale.  Major  Perdue 
had  returned  home  thoroughly  reconstructed.  He  was 
full  of  admiration  for  General  Grant's  attitude  toward 
General  Lee,  and  he  endorsed  with  all  his  heart  the  tone 
and  spirit  of  Lee's  address  to  his  old  soldiers ;  but  when 
he  saw  the  unexpected  turn  that  the  politicians  had  been 
able  to  give  to  events,  he  found  it  hard  to  hold  his  peace. 
Finally,  when  he  could  restrain  himself  no  longer,  he 
incited  his  friends  to  hold  a  meeting  and  propose  his  name 
as  a  candidate  for  Congress.  This  was  done,  and  the 
Major  seized  the  opportunity  to  issue  a  circular  letter 
declining  the  nomination,  and  giving  his  reasons  there 
for.  This  letter  remains  to  this  day  the  most  scathing 
arraignment  of  carpet-baggery,  bayonet  rule,  and  the 
Republican  Party  generally  that  has  ever  been  put  in 
print.  It  contained  some  decidedly  picturesque  refer- <J 
ences  to  the  personality  of  the  commander  of  the  Georgia 
district,  who  happened  to  be  General  Pope,  the  famous 
soldier  who  had  his  head-quarters  in  the  saddle  at  a  very 
interesting  period  of  the  Civil  War. 

Major  Perdue  did  not  intend  it  so,  but  his  letter  was 
a  piece  of  pure  recklessness.  The  effect  of  this  scorch 
ing  document  was  to  bring  a  company  of  Federal  troops 
to  Halcyondale,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  a  de 
tachment  was  stationed  at  Shady  Dale.  In  each  case  y 
they  brought  their  tents  with  them,  and  went  into  camp. 
This  was  taken  as  a  signal  by  the  carpet-baggers  that 
the  region  round-about  was  to  be  cultivated  for  political 
purposes,  and  forthwith  they  began  operations,  receiv 
ing  occasional  accessions  in  the  person  of  a  number  of 

[  "7  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

scalawags,  the  most  respectable  and  conscientious  of  these 
being  Mr.  Mahlon  Butts,  who  had  been  a  vigorous  and 
consistent  Union  man  all  through  the  war.  He  could 
be  neither  convinced  nor  intimidated,  and  his  consistency 
r  won  for  him  the  respect  of  his  neighbours.  But  when  the 
carpet-baggers  made  their  appearance,  and  Mahlon 
Butts  began  to  fraternise  with  them,  he  was  ostracised 
along  with  the  rest. 

It  soon  became  necessary  for  the  whites  to  take  coun 
sel  together,  and  Shady  Dale  became,  as  it  had  been  be 
fore  the  war,  the  Mecca  of  the  various  leaders.  Before 
the  war,  the  politicians  of  both  parties  were  in  the  habit 
of  meeting  at  Shady  Dale,  enjoying  the  barbecues  for 
which  the  town  was  famous,  and  taking  advantage  of 
the  occasion  to  lay  out  the  programme  of  the  campaign. 
And  now,  when  it  was  necessary  to  organise  a  white 
man's  party,  the  leaders  turned  their  eyes  and  their 
steps  to  Shady  Dale. 

Then  it  was  that  Gabriel  had  an  opportunity  to  see 
Toombs,  and  Stephens,  and  Hill,  and  Herschel  V.  John 
son — he  who  was  on  the  national  ticket  with  Douglas 
in  1860 — and  other  men  who  were  to  become  prominent 
later.  There  were  some  differences  of  opinion  to  be  set 
tled.  A  few  of  the  leaders  had  advised  the  white  voters  to 
take  no  part  in  the  political  farce  which  Congress  had  ar 
ranged,  but  to  leave  it  all  to  the  negroes  and  the  aliens, 
especially  as  so  many  of  the  white  voters  had  been  dis 
franchised,  or  were  labouring  under  political  disabilities. 
Others,  on  the  contrary,  advised  the  white  voters  to  qual 
ify  as  rapidly  as  possible.  It  was  this  difference  of  opin- 

[   "8   1 


POLITICAL     MACHINE     AT    WORK 

ion  that  remained  to  be  settled,  so  far  as  Georgia  was 
concerned. 

It  was  Gabriel's  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Stephens  that 
first  fired  his  ambition.  Here  was  a  frail,  weak  man, 
hardly  able  to  stand  alone,  who  had  been  an  invalid  all 
his  life,  and  yet  had  won  renown,  and  by  his  wisdom  and 
conservatism  had  gained  the  confidence  and  esteem  of 
men  of  all  parties  and  of  all  shades  of  opinion.  His  will 
power  and  his  energy  lifted  him  above  his  bodily  weak 
ness  and  ills,  and  carried  him  through  some  of  the  most 
arduous  campaigns  that  ever  occurred  in  Georgia,  where 
heated  canvasses  were  the  rule  and  not  the  exception. 
Watching  him  closely,  and  noting  his  wonderful  vivac 
ity  and  cheerfulness,  Gabriel  Tolliver  came  to  the  con 
clusion  that  if  an  invalid  could  win  fame  a  strong  healthy 
lad  should  be  able  to  make  his  mark. 

It  fell  out  that  Gabriel  attracted  the  attention  of  Mr. 
Stephens,  who  was  always  partial  to  young  men.  He 
made  the  lad  sit  near  him,  drew  him  out,  and  gave  him 
some  sound  advice  in  regard  to  his  studies.  At  the 
suggestion  of  Mr.  Stephens,  the  lad  was  permitted  to 
attend  the  conferences,  which  were  all  informal,  and  the 
kindly  statesman  took  pains  to  introduce  the  awkward, 
blushing  youngster  to  all  the  prominent  men  who 
came. 

It  was  curious,  Gabriel  thought,  how  easily  and  natu 
rally  the  invalid  led  the  conversation  into  the  channel  he 
desired.  He  was  smoking  a  clay  pipe,  which  his  faith 
ful  body-servant  replenished  from  time  to  time.  "  Mr. 
Sanders,"  he  began,  "  I  have  heard  a  good  deal  about 

[119  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

your  attempt  to  kidnap  Lincoln.  What  did  you  think 
of  Lincoln  anyhow?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  thought,  an'  still  think  that  he  was  the 
best  all-'round  man  I  ever  laid  eyes  on." 

"  He  certainly  was  a  very  great  man,"  remarked  Mr. 
Stephens.  "  I  knew  him  well  before  the  war.  We  were 
in  Congress  together.  It  is  odd  that  he  showed  no  re 
markable  traits  at  that  time." 

"  Well,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders,  "  arter  the  Dimmycrats 
elected  him  President,  he  found  hisself  in  a  corner,  an' 
he  jest  had  to  be  a  big  man." 

"  You  mean  after  the  Republicans  elected  him,"  some 
one  suggested. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it, — not  a  bit  of  it !  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Sanders.  "  Why  the  Republicans  didn't  have  enough 
votes  to  elect  three  governors,  much  less  a  President.  But 
the  Dimmycrats,  bein'  perlite  by  natur'  an'  not  troubled 
wi'  any  surplus  common  sense,  divided  up  the'r  votes,  an' 
the  Republicans  walked  in  an'  took  the  cake.  If  you 
ever  hear  of  me  votin'  the  Dimmycrat  ticket — an'  I 
reckon  I'll  have  to  do  it — you  may  jest  put  it  down  that 
it  ain't  bekase  I  want  to,  but  bekase  I'm  ableege  to.  The 
party  ain't  hardly  got  life  left  in  it,  an'  yit  here  you 
big  men  are  wranglin'  an'  jowerin'  as  to  whether  you'll 
set  down  an'  let  a  drove  of  mules  run  over  you,  or  whether 
you'll  stan'  up  to  the  rack,  fodder  or  no  fodder." 

"  This  brings  us  to  the  very  point  we  are  to  discuss," 
said  Mr.  Stephens,  laughing.  "  I  may  say  in  the  begin 
ning  that  I  am  much  of  Mr.  Sanders's  opinion.  Some 
very  able  men  insist  that  if  we  take  no  part  in  this  recon- 

[  120  ] 


POLITICAL     MACHINE    AT     WORK 

struction  business,  we'll  not  be  responsible  for  it.  That 
is  true,  but  we  will  have  to  endure  the  consequences  just 
the  same.  Radicalism  has  majorities  at  present,  but 
these  will  disappear  after  a  time." 

"  I  reckon  some  of  us  can  be  trusted  to  wear  away  a 
few  majorities,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  dryly,  and  it  was 
his  last  contribution  to  the  discussion.  As  might  be  sup 
posed,  no  definite  policy  was  hit  upon.  The  conditions 
were  so  new  to  those  who  had  to  deal  with  them,  that, 
after  an  interchange  of  views,  the  company  separated, 
feeling  that  the  policy  proper  to  be  pursued  would  arise 
naturally  out  of  the  immediate  necessities  of  the  occasion, 
or  the  special  character  of  the  situation  This  was  the 
view  of  Mr.  Stephens,  who,  as  he  was  still  suffering  from 
his  confinement  in  prison,  accepted  the  invitation  of 
Meriwether  Clopton  to  remain  at  Shady  Dale  for  a  week 
or  more. 

During  that  week,  there  was  hardly  a  day  that  Ga 
briel  did  not  go  to  the  Clopton  Place.  He  went  because 
he  could  see  that  his  presence  was  agreeable  to  Mr. 
Stephens,  as  well  as  to  Meriwether  Clopton.  He  was  led  T 
along  to  join  in  the  conversation  which  the  older  men 
were  carrying  on,  and  in  that  way  he  gained  more  sub 
stantial  information  about  political  principles  and  poli 
cies  than  he  could  have  found  in  the  books  and  the  news 
papers. 

Moreover,  Gabriel  came  in  closer  contact  with  Francis 
Bethune.  That  young  gentleman  seized  the  opportunity 
to  invite  Gabriel  to  his  room,  where  they  had  several 
familiar  and  pleasant  talks.  Bethune  told  Gabriel  much 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

that  was  interesting  about  the  war,  and  about  the  men 
he  had  met  in  Richmond  and  Washington.  He  also  re 
lated  many  interesting  incidents  and  stories  of  adventure, 
in  which  he  had  taken  part.  But  he  never  once  put  him 
self  forward  as  the  hero  of  an  exploit.  On  the  contrary, 
he  was  always  in  the  background;  invariably,  it  was 
some  one  else  to  whom  he  gave  the  credit  of  success,  tak 
ing  upon  himself  the  responsibility  of  the  failures. 

Gabriel  had  never  suspected  this  proud-looking  young 
man  of  modesty,  and  he  at  once  began  to  admire  and  likq 
Bethune,  who  was  not  only  genial,  but  congenial.  He 
seemed  to  take  a  real  interest  in  Gabriel,  and  gave  him 
a  good  deal  of  sober  advice  which  he  should  have  taken 
himself. 

"  I'll  never  be  anything  but  plain  Bethune,"  he  said 
to  Gabriel.  "  I'd  like  to  do  something  or  be  something 
for  the  sake  of  those  who  have  had  the  care  of  me ;  but 
it  isn't  in  me.  I  don't  know  why,  but  the  other  fellow 
gets  there  first  when  there's  something  to  be  won.  And 
when  I  am  first  it  leads  to  trouble.  Take  my  college 
scrape ;  you've  heard  about  it,  no  doubt.  Well,  the  boys 
there  have  been  playing  poker  ever  since  there  was  a 
college,  and  they'll  play  it  as  long  as  the  college  remains ; 
but  the  first  game  I  was  inveigled  into,  the  Chancellor 
walked  in  upon  us  while  I  was  shuffling  the  cards,  and 
stood  at  my  back  and  heard  me  cursing  the  others  because 
they  had  suddenly  turned  to  their  books.  '  That  will 
do,  Mr.  Bethune,'  said  the  Chancellor ;  '  we  have  had 
enough  profanity  for  to-night.'  Well,  that  has  been 
the  way  all  through.  I  wanted  to  win  rank  in  the  army 

[  122  ] 


POLITICAL     MACHINE     AT     WORK 

— and  I  did ;  I  ranked  everybody  as  the  king-bee  of  in 
subordination.  That  isn't  all.  Take  my  gait — the  way 
I  walk ;  everybody  thinks  I  hold  my  head  up  and  swag 
ger  because  I  am  vain.  But  look  at  the  matter  with 
clear  eyes,  Tolliver ;  I  walk  that  way  because  it  is  natural 
to  me.  As  for  vanity,  what  on  earth  have  I  to  be  vain 
of?  " 

"  Well,  you  are  young,  you  know,"  said  Gabriel — 
"  almost  as  young  as  I  am ;  and  though  you  have  been 
unlucky,  that  is  no  sign  that  it  will  always  be  so." 

"  No,  Tolliver,  I  am  several  years  older  than  you. 
All  your  opportunities  are  still  to  come;  and  if  I  can 
do  nothing  myself,  I  should  like  to  see  you  succeed.  I 
have  heard  my  grandfather  say  some  fine  things  about 
you." 

Now,  such  talk  as  that,  when  it  carries  the  evidence  of 
sincerity  along  with  it,  is  bound  to  win  a  young  fellow 
over ;  youth  cannot  resist  it.  Bethune  won  Gabriel,  and 
won  him  completely.  It  was  so  pleasing  to  Gabriel  to  be 
able  to  have  a  cordial  liking  for  Bethune  that  he  had 
the  feelings  of  those  who  gain  a  moral  victory  over  them 
selves  in  the  matter  of  some  evil  habit  or  passion.  His 
grandmother  smiled  fondly  on  his  enthusiasm,  remark 
ing: 

"Yes,  Gabriel;  he  is  certainly  a  fine  young  gentle 
man,  .and  I  am  glad  of  it  for  Nan's  sake.  He  will  be 
sure  to  make  her  happy,  and  she  deserves  happiness  as 
much  as  any  human  being  I  ever  knew." 

Gabriel  also  thought  that  Nan  deserved  to  be  very 
happy,  but  he  could  imagine  several  forms  of  happiness 

[  123  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

that  did  not  include  marriage  with  Bethune,  however 
much  he  might  admire  his  friend.  And  his  enthusiastic 
praises  of  Bethune  ceased  so  suddenly  that  his  grand 
mother  looked  at  him  curiously.  The  truth  is,  her  re 
marks  about  Nan  and  Bethune  always  gave  Gabriel  a 
cold  chill.  His  grandmother  was  to  him  the  fountain- 
head  of  wisdom,  the  embodiment  of  experience.  When 
he  was  a  bit  of  a  lad,  she  used  to  untie  all  the  hard  knots, 
and  untangle  all  the  tangles  that  persisted  in  invading 
his  large  collection  of  string,  cords  and  twines,  and  the 
ease  with  which  she  did  this — for  the  knots  seemed  to 
come  untied  of  their  own  accord,  and  the  tangles  to 
vanish  as  soon  as  her  fingers  touched  them — gave  Gabriel 
an  impression  of  her  ability  that  he  never  lost.  Her 
word  was  law  with  him,  though  he  had  frequently  broken 
the  law,  and  her  judgment  was  infallible. 


124  ] 


CHAPTER   NINE 


Nan  and  Gabriel 

VJTABRIEL  renewed  his  enthusiasm  for  Bethune  as  soon 
as  he  had  an  opportunity  to  see  Nan.  These  oppor 
tunities  became  rarer  and  rarer  as  the  days  went  by. 
Sometimes  she  was  friendly  and  familiar,  as  on  the  day 
when  she  went  home  with  him  to  hear  the  story  of  poor 
Margaret  Gaithcr;  but  oftcner  she  was  cool  and  dig 
nified,  and  appeared  to  be  inclined  to  patronise  her  old 
friend  and  comrade.  This  was  certainly  her  attitude 
when  Gabriel  began  to  sing  the  praises  of  Francis  Be 
thune  when,  on  one  occasion,  he  met  her  on  the  street. 

"  I'm  sure  it  is  very  good  of  you,  Gabriel,  to  speak 
so  kindly  of  Mr.  Bethune,"  she  said.  "  No  doubt  he  de 
serves  it  all.  He  also  says  some  very  nice  things  about 
you,  so  I've  heard.  Nonny  says  there's  some  sort  of 
an  agreement  between  you — '  you  tickle  me  and  I'll  tickle 
you.'  Oh,  there's  nothing  for  you  to  blush  about,  Ga 
briel,"  she  went  on  very  seriously.  "  Nonny  may  laugh 
at  it,  but  I  think  it  speaks  well  for  both  you  and  Mr. 
Bethune." 

Gabriel  made  no  reply,  and  as  he  stood  there  looking 
at  Nan,  and  realising  for  the  first  time  what  he  had 
only  dimly  suspected  before,  that  they  could  no  longer 

r  125 1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

be  comrades  and  chums,  he  presented  a  very  uncomfort 
able  spectacle.  He  was  the  picture  of  awkwardness.  His 
hands  and  his  feet  were  all  in  his  way,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  felt  cheap.  Nan  had  suddenly  loomed 
up  as  a  woman  grown.  It  is  true  that  she  resolutely  re 
fused  to  follow  the  prevailing  fashion  and  wear  hoop- 
skirts,  but  this  fact  and  her  long  dress  simply  gave  em 
phasis  to  the  fact  that  she  was  grown. 

"  Well,  Nan,  I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Gabriel,  by  way 
of  saying  something.  He  spoke  the  truth  without  know 
ing  why. 

"  Sorry !  Why  should  you  be  sorry  ?  "  cried  Nan.  "  I 
think  you  have  everything  to  make  you  glad.  You  have 
your  Mr.  Bethune,  and  no  longer  than  yesterday  I  heard 
Eugenia  Claiborne  say  that  you  are  the  handsomest 
man  she  ever  saw — yes,  she  called  you  a  man.  She  de 
clared  that  she  never  knew  before  that  curly  hair  could 
be  so  becoming  to  a  man.  And  Margaret  says  that  you 
and  Eugenia  would  just  suit  each  other,  she  a  blonde 
and  you  a  brunette." 

Gabriel  blushed  again  in  spite  of  himself,  and  laughed, 
too — laughed  at  the  incongruity  of  the  situation.  This 
Nan,  with  her  long  gingham  frock,  and  her  serious  ways, 
was  no  more  like  the  Nan  he  had  known  than  if  she  had 
come  from  another  world.  It  was  laughable,  of  course, 
and  pathetic,  too,  for  Gabriel  could  laugh  and  feel  sorry 
at  the  same  moment. 

"  You  haven't  told  me  why  you  are  sorry,"  said  Nan, 
when  the  lad's  silence  had  become  embarrassing  to  her. 

"  Well,  I  am  just  sorry,"  Gabriel  replied. 
I    126   1 


NAN    AND    GABRIEL 

"  You  are  angry,"  she  declared. 

"  No,"  he  insisted,  "  I  am  just  sorry.  I  don't  know 
why,  unless  it's  because  you  are  not  the  same.  You  have 
been  changing  all  the  time,  I  reckon,  but  I  never  noticed 
it  so  much  until  to-day."  His  tone  was  one  of  com 
plaint. 

As  Nan  stood  there  regarding  Gabriel  with  an  ex 
pression  of  perplexity  in  her  countenance,  and  tapping 
the  ground  impatiently  with  one  foot,  the  two  young 
people  got  their  first  whiff  of  the  troubles  that  had  been 
slowly  gathering  over  that  region.  Around  the  corner 
near  which  they  stood,  two  men  had  paused  to  finish  an 
earnest  conversation.  Evidently  they  had  been  walking 
along,  but  their  talk  had  become  so  interesting,  appar 
ently,  that  they  paused  involuntarily.  They  were  hid 
from  Nan  and  Gabriel  by  the  high  brick  wall  that  en 
closed  Madame  Awtry's  back  yard. 

"  As  president  of  this  league,"  said  a  voice  which 
neither  Nan  nor  Gabriel  could  recognise,  "  you  will  have 
great  responsibility.  I  hope  you  realise  it." 

"  I'm  in  hopes  I  does,  suh,"  replied  the  other,  whose 
voice  there  was  no  difficulty  in  recognising  as  that  of  the 
Rev.  Jeremiah  Tomlin. 

"  As  you  so  aptly  put  it  last  night  at  your  church, 
the  bottom  rail  is  now  on  top,  and  it  will  stay  there  if 
the  coloured  people  know  their  own  interests.  Every 
dollar  that  has  been  made  in  the  South  during  the  parst  " 
two  hundred  years  was  made  by  the  niggeroes  and  be 
longs  to  them." 

"  Dat  is  so,  suh ;    dat  is  de  Lord's  trufe.     I  realise 
[   127   1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

dat,  suli ;  an'  I'll  try  f  er  ter  make  my  people  reelize  it," 
responded  the  Rev.  Jeremiah. 

"  What  you  lack  in  experience,"  continued  the  first 
speaker,  "  you  make  up  in  numbers.  It  is  important  to 
remember  that.  Organise  your  race,  get  them  together, 
impress  upon  them  the  necessity  of  acting  as  one  man. 
Once  organised,  you  will  find  leaders.  All  the  arrange 
ments  have  been  made  for  that." 

"  I  hears  you,  suh ;  an'  b'lieves  you,"  replied  the  Rev. 
Jeremiah  with  great  ceremony. 

4  You  have  seen  white  men  from  a  distance  coming 
and  going.  Where  did  they  go  ?  " 

"  Dey  went  ter  Clopton's,  suh ;  right  dar  an'  nowhars 
else.  I  seed  um,  suh,  wid  my  own  eyes." 

"  You  don't  know  what  they  came  for.  Well,  I  will 
tell  you:  they  came  here  to  devise  some  plan  by  which 
they  can  deprive  the  niggeroes  of  the  right  to  vote. 
Now,  what  do  you  suppose  would  be  the  simplest  way  to 
do  this  ?  "  The  Rev.  Jeremiah  made  no  reply.  He  was 
evidently  waiting  in  awe  to  hear  what  the  plan  was. 
"  You  don't  know,"  the  first  speaker  went  on  to  say ; 
"  well,  I  will  tell  you.  They  propose  to  re-enslave  the 
coloured  people.  They  propose  to  take  the  ballots  out 
of  their  hands  and  put  in  their  place,  the  hoe  and  the 
plough-handles.  They  propose  to  deprive  you  of  the 
freedom  bestowed  upon  you  by  the  martyr  President."  / 

"  You  don't  tell  me,  suh !    Well,  well !  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  their  object,  and  they  will  undoubtedly 
succeed  if  your  people  do  not  organise,  and  stand  to 
gether,  and  give  their  support  to  the  Republican  Party." 

F  128  I 


NAN    AND    GABRIEL 

"  I  has  b'longed  ter  de  Erpublican  Party,  suh,  sense 
fust  I  heard  de  name." 

"  We  meet  to-night  in  the  school-house.  Bring  only 
a  few — men  whom  you  can  trust,  and  the  older  they  are 
the  better." 

"  I  ain't  so  right  down  suttin  and  sho'  'bout  dat,  suh. 
Some  er  de  ol'  ones  is  mighty  sot  in  der  ways ;  dey  ain't 
got  de  1'arnin',  suh,  an'  dey  dunner  what's  good  fer  'm. 
But  I'll  pick  out  some,  suh;  I'll  try  fer  ter  fetch  de 
ones  what'll  do  us  de  mos'  good." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Tommerlin ;  the  old  school-house  is 
the  place,  and  there'll  be  no  lights  that  can  be  seen  from 
the  outside.  Rap  three  times  slowly,  and  twice  quickly 
— so.  The  pass-word  is " 

He  must  have  whispered  it,  for  no  sound  came  to  the 
ears  of  Nan  and  Gabriel.  The  latter  motioned  his  head 
to  Nan,  and  the  two  walked  around  the  corner.  As  they 
turned  Nan  was  saying,  "  You  must  go  with  me  some 
day,  and  call  on  Eugenia  Claibornc;  she'll  be  delighted 
to  see  you — and  she's  just  lovely." 

What  answer  Gabriel  made  he  never  knew,  so  intently 
was  he  engaged  in  trying  to  digest  what  he  had  heard. 
The  Rev.  Jeremiah  took  off  his  hat  and  smiled  broadly, 
as  he  gave  Nan  and  Gabriel  a  ceremonious  bow.  They 
responded  to  his  salute  and  passed  on.  The  white  man 
who  had  been  talking  to  the  negro  was  a  stranger  to 
both  of  them,  though  both  came  to  know  him  very  well 
— too  well,  in  fact — a  few  months  later.  He  had  about 
him  the  air  of  a  preacher,  his  coat  being  of  the  cut  and 
colour  of  the  garments  worn  by  clergymen.  His  coun- 

[  129  J 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

tenance  was  pale,  but  all  his  features,  except  his  eyes, 
stood  for  energy  and  determination.  The  eyes  were  rest 
less  and  shifty,  giving  him  an  appearance  of  uneasiness. 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  "  inquired  Nan,  when  they  were 
out  of  hearing. 

"  He  means  a  good  deal,"  replied  Gabriel,  who  as  an 
interested  listener  at  the  conferences  of  the  white  leaders, 
had  heard  several  prominent  men  express  fears  that  just 
such  statements  would  be  made  to  the  negroes  by  the 
carpet-bag  element ;  and  now  here  was  a  man  pouring 
the  most  alarming  and  exciting  tidings  into  the  ears  of 
a  negro  on  the  public  streets.  True,  he  had  no  idea 
that  any  one  but  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  was  in  hearing,  but 
the  tone  of  his  voice  was  not  moderated.  What  he  said, 
he  said  right  out. 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  a  good  deal?  "  Nan  asked. 

"  You  heard  what  he  said,"  Gabriel  answered,  "  and 
you  must  see  what  he  is  trying  to  do.  Suppose  he  should 
convince  the  negroes  that  the  whites  are  trying  to  put 
them  back  in  slavery,  and  they 'should  rise  and  kill  the 
whites  and  burn  all  the  houses  ?  " 

"  Now,  Gabriel,  you  know  that  is  all  nonsense,"  re 
plied  Nan,  trying  to  laugh.  In  spite  of  her  effort  to 
smile  at  Gabriel's  explanation,  her  face  was  very  serious 
indeed. 

"  Yonder  comes  Miss  Claiborne,"  said  Gabriel. 
"  Good-bye,  Nan ;  I'm  still  sorry  you  are  not  as  you  used 
to  be.  I  must  go  and  see  Mr.  Sanders."  With  that,  he 
turned  out  of  the  main  street,  and  went  running  across 
the  square. 

F  13°  I 


NAN    AND    GABRIEL 

"  That  child  worries  me,"  said  Nan,  uttering  her 
thought  aloud,  and  unconsciously  using  an  expression 
she  had  often  heard  on  Mrs.  Absalom's  tongue.  "  Did 
you  see  that  great  gawk  of  a  boy  ?  "  she  went  on,  as 
Eugenia  Claiborne  came  up.  "  He  hasn't  the  least  dig 
nity." 

"  Well,  you  should  be  glad  of  that,  Nan,"  Eugenia 
suggested. 

"  I?  Well,  please  excuse  me.  If  there  is  anything  I 
admire  in  other  people,  it  is  dignity."  She  straightened 
herself  up  and  assumed  such  a  serious  attitude  that  Eu 
genia  became  convulsed  with  laughter. 

"  What  did  you  do  to  Gabriel,  Nan,  that  he  should  be 
running  away  from  you  at  such  a  rate?  Or  did  he  run 
because  he  saw  me  coming?"  Before  Nan  could  make 
any  reply,  Eugenia  seized  her  by  both  elbows — "  And, 
oh,  Nan !  you  know  the  Yankee  captain  who  is  in  com 
mand  of  the  Yankee  soldiers  here?  Well,  his  name  is 
Falconer,  and  mother  says  he  is  our  cousin.  And  would 
you  believe  it,  she  wanted  to  ask  him  to  tea.  I  cried  when 
she  told  me;  I  never  was  so  angry  in  my  life.  Why,  I 
wouldn't  stay  in  the  same  house  nor  eat  at  the  same  table 
with  one  who  is  an  enemy  of  my  country." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  Nan  with  emphasis.  "  But  he's 
very  handsome." 

"  I  don't  care  if  he  is,"  cried  the  other  impulsively. 
"  He  has  been  killing  our  gallant  young  men,  and  de 
priving  us  of  our  liberties,  and  he's  here  now  to  help 
the  negroes  lord  it  over  us." 

"  Oh,  now  I  know  what  Gabriel  intends  to  do !  "  ex~ 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

claimed  Nan,  but  she  refused  to  satisfy  Eugenia's  curi 
osity,  much  to  that  young  lady's  discomfort.  "  I  must 
go,"  said  Nan,  kissing  her  friend  good-bye.  Eugenia 
stood  watching  her  until  she  was  out  of  sight,  and  won 
dered  why  she  was  in  such  a  hurry. 

Nan  had  changed  greatly  in  the  course  of  two  years, 
and,  in  some  directions,  not  for  the  better,  as  some  of 
the  older  ones  thought  and  said.  They  remembered  how 
charming  she  was  in  the  days  when  she  threw  all  conven 
tions  to  the  winds,  and  was  simply  a  wild,  sweet  little 
rascal,  engaged  in  performing  the  most  unheard-of 
pranks,  and  cutting  up  the  most  impossible  capers.  Un 
til  Margaret  Gaither  and  Eugenia  Claiborne  came  to 
Shady  Dale,  Nan  had  no  girl-friends.  All  the  others 
were  either  ages  too  old  or  ages  too  young,  or  disagree 
able,  and  Nan  had  to  find  her  amusements  the  best  way 
she  could. 

Margaret  Gaither  and  Eugenia  Claiborne  had  a  very 
subduing  effect  upon  Nan.  They  had  been  brought  up 
with  the  greatest  respect  for  all  the  small  formalities 
and  conventions,  and  the  attention  they  paid  to  these 
really  awed  Nan.  The  young  ladies  were  free  and  un 
conventional  enough  when  there  was  no  other  eye  to  mark 
their  movements,  but  at  table,  or  in  company,  they  held 
their  heads  in  a  certain  way,  and  they  had  rules  by  which 
to  seat  themselves  in  a  chair,  or  to  rise  therefrom ;  they 
had  been  taught  how  to  enter  a  room,  how  to  bow,  and 
how  to  walk  gracefully,  as  was  supposed,  from  one 
side  of  a  room  to  the  other.  Nan  tried  hard  to  learn  a 
few  of  these  conventions,  but  she  never  succeeded;  she 

[  132  I 


NAN    AND    GABRIEL 

never  could  conform  to  the  rules;  she  always  failed  to 
remember  them  at  the  proper  time;  and  it  was  very 
fortunate  that  this  was  so.  The  native  grace  with  which 
she  moved  about  could  never  have  been  imparted  by  rule ; 
but  there  were  long  moments  when  her  failure  to  con 
form  weighed  upon  her  mind,  and  subdued  her. 

This  was  a  part  of  the  change  that  Gabriel  found  in 
her.  She  could  no  longer,  in  justice  to  the  rules  of  eti 
quette,  seize  Gabriel  by  the  lapels  of  his  coat  and  give 
him  a  good  shaking  when  he  happened  to  displease  her, 
and  she  could  no  longer  switch  him  across  the  face  with 
her  braided  hair — that  wonderful  tawny  hair,  so  fine, 
so  abundant,  so  soft,  and  so  warm-looking.  No,  indeed ! 
the  day  for  that  was  over,  and  very  sorry  she  was  for 
herself  and  for  Gabriel,  too. 

And  while  she  was  going  home,  following  in  the  foot 
steps  of  that  young  man  (for  Dorringtons'  was  on  the 
way  to  Cloptons'),  a  thought  struck  her,  and  it  seemed 
to  be  so  important  that  she  stopped  still  and  clapped 
the  palms  of  her  hands  together  with  an  energy  unusual 
to  young  ladies.  Then  she  gathered  her  skirt  firmly, 
drew  it  up  a  little,  and  went  running  along  the  road  as 
rapidly  as  Gabriel  had  run.  Fortunately,  a  knowledge 
of  the  rules  of  etiquette  had  not  had  the  effect  of  paralys 
ing  Nan's  legs.  She  ran  so  fast  that  she  was  wellnigh 
breathless  when  she  reached  home.  She  rushed  into  the 
house,  and  fell  in  a  chair,  crying: 

"  Oh,  Nonny !  " 


[133 


CHAPTER   TEN 


The  Troubles  of  Nan 

W  HY,  what  on  earth  ails  the  child  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Absalom.  Nan  was  leaning  back  in  the  chair,  her  face 
very  red,  making  an  effort  to  fan  herself  with  one  little 
hand,  and  panting  wildly.  "  Malindy !  "  Mrs.  Absalom 
yelled  to  the  cook,  "  run  here  an'  fetch  the  camphire  as 
you  come !  Ain't  you  comin'  ?  The  laws  a  massy  on 
us !  the  child'll  be  cold  and  stiff  before  you  start !  Honey, 
what  on  earth  ails  you?  Tell  your  Nonny.  Has  any 
body  pestered  you?  Ef  they  have,  jest  tell  me  the'r 
name,  an'  I'll  f oiler  'em  to  the  jumpin'-off  place  but 
what  I'll  frail  'em  out.  You  Malindy !  whyn't  you  come 
on?  You'll  go  faster'n  that  to  your  own  funeral." 

But  when  Malindy  came  with  the  camphor,  and  a  dose 
of  salts  in  a  tumbler,  Nan  waved  her  away.  "  I  don't 
want  any  physic,  Nonny,"  she  said,  still  panting,  for 
her  run  had  been  a  long  one;  "  I'm  just  tired  from  run 
ning.  And,  oh,  Nonny !  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"  Well,  my  life ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Absalom  indig 
nantly,  withdrawing  her  arms  from  around  Nan,  and 
rising  to  her  feet.  "  A  little  more,  an'  you'd  'a'  had  me 
ready  for  my  coolin'-board.  I  ain't  had  such  a  turn 

r  134-  i 


THE    TROUBLES    OF    NAN 

— not  sence  the  day  a  nigger  boy  run  in  the  gate  an'  tol' 
me  the  Yankees  was  a-hangin'  Ab.  An'  all  bekaze 
you've  hatched  out  some  rigamarole  that  nobody  on  the 
green  earth  would  'a'  thought  of  but  you." 

She  fussed  around  a  little,  and  was  for  going  about 
the  various  unnecessary  duties  she  imposed  on  herself; 
but  Nan  protested.  "  Please,  Nonny,  wait  until  I  tell 
you."  Thereupon  Nan  told  as  well  as  she  could  of  the 
conversation  she  and  Gabriel  had  overheard  in  town,  and 
the  recital  gave  Mrs.  Absalom  a  more  serious  feeling 
than  she  had  had  in  many  a  day.  Her  muscular  arms, 
bare  to  the  elbow,  were  folded  across  her  ample  bosom, 
and  she  seemed  to  be  glaring  at  Nan  with  a  frown  on 
her  face,  but  she  was  thinking. 

"  Well,"  she  said  with  a  sigh,  "  I  knowed  there  was 
gwine  to  be  trouble  of  some  kind — old  Billy  Sanders  went 
by  here  this  mornin'  as  drunk  as  a  lord." 

"  Drunk !  "  cried  Nan  with  blanched  face. 

"  Well,  sorter  tollerbul  how-come-you-so.  The  last 
time  old  Billy  was  drunk,  was  when  sesaytion  was  fetched 
on.  Ev'ry  time  he  runs  a  straw  in  a  jimmy- John,  he 
fishes  up  trouble.  An'  my  dream's  out.  I  dremp  last 
night  that  a  wooden-leg  man  come  to  the  door,  an'  ast 
me  for  a  pair  of  shoes.  I  ast  him  what  on  earth  he 
wanted  wi'  a  pair,  bein's  he  had  but  one  foot.  He  said 
that  the  foot  he  didn't  have  was  constant  a-feelin'  like 
it  was  cold,  an'  he  allowed  maybe  it'd  feel  better  ef  it 
know'd  that  he  had  a  shoe  ready  for  it  ag'in  colder 
weather." 

"Oh,  I  hate  him!  I  just  naturally  despise  him!" 
f  135  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

cried  Nan.  When  she  was  angry  her  face  was  pale5  and 
it  was  very  pale  now. 

"Why  do  you  hate  the  wooden-leg  man,  honey?  It 
was  all  in  a  dream,"  said  Mrs.  Absalom,  soothingly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  Non- 
ny !  "  exclaimed  Nan,  ready  to  cry.  "  I  mean  old  Billy 
Sanders.  And  if  I  don't  give  him  a  piece  of  my  mind 
when  I  see  him.  Now  Gabriel  will  go  to  that  place 
to-night,  and  he's  nothing  but  a  boy." 

"  A  boy !  well,  I  dunner  where  you'll  find  your  men 
ef  Gabriel  ain't  nothin'  but  a  boy.  Where's  anybody 
in  these  diggin's  that's  any  bigger  or  stouter?  I  wish 
you'd  show  'em  to  me,"  remarked  Mrs.  Absalom. 

"I  don't  care,"  Nan  persisted;  "I  know  just  what 
Gabriel  will  do.  He'll  go  to  that  place  to-night,  and — 
and — I'd  rather  go  there  myself." 

"  Well,  my  life !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Absalom,  with  lifted 
eyebrows. 

The  pallor  of  Nan's  face  was  gradually  replaced  by 
a  warmer  glow.  "  Now,  Nonny !  don't  say  a  word — 
don't  tease — don't  tease  me  about  Gabriel.  If  you 
do,  I'll  never  tell  you  anything  more  for  ever  and 
ever." 

"  All  this  is  bran  new  to  me,"  Mrs.  Absalom  declared. 
"  You  make  me  feel,  Nan,  like  I  was  in  some  strange 
place,  talkin'  wi'  some  un  I  never  seed  before.  You  ain't 
no  more  like  yourself — you  ain't  no  more  like  you  used 
to  be — than  day  is  like  night,  an'  I'm  jest  as  sorry  as 
I  can  be." 

"  That's  what  Gabriel  says,"  sighed  Nan.  "  He  said 
f  136  1 


THE    TROUBLES    OF    NAN 

he  was  sorry,  and  now  you  say  you  are  sorry.     Oh,  Non- 
ny,  I  don't  want  any  one  to  be  sorry  for  me." 

"  Well,  then,  behave  yourself,  an'  be  like  you  use  to 
be,  an'  stop  trollopin'  aroun'  wi'  them  highfalutin'  gals 
downtown.  They  look  like  they  know  too  much.  All 
they  talk  about  is  boys,  boys,  boys,  from  mornin'  till 
night;  an'  I  noticed  when  they  was  spendin'  a  part  of 
the'r  time  here  that  you  was  just  as  bad.  It  was  six 
of  one  an'  twice  three  of  the  rest.  Now  you  know  that 
ain't  a  sign  of  good  health  for  gals  to  be  eternally  talkin' 
about  boys,  'specially  sech  ganglin',  lop-sided  creeturs 
as  we've  got  aroun'  here." 

"  Where's  Johnny  ?  "  asked  Nan,  who  evidently  had 
no  notion  of  getting  in  a  controversy  with  Mrs.  Absa 
lom  on  the  subject  of  boys.  "  Johnny  "  was  her  name 
for  her  stepmother,  whose  surname  of  Dion  had  been 
changed  to  "  Johns  "  the  day  after  she  arrived  at  Shady 
Dale.  The  story  of  little  Miss  Johns  has  been  told  in 
another  place  and  all  that  is  necessary  to  add  to  the 
record  is  the  fact  that  she  had  managed  to  endear  her 
self  to  the  critical,  officious,  and  somewhat  jealous  Mrs. 
Absalom.  Mrs.  Dorrington  had  the  tact  and  the  charm 
of  the  best  of  her  race.  She  was  Nan's  dearest  friend 
and  only  confidante,  and  though  she  was  not  many  years 
the  girl's  senior,  she  had  an  influence  over  her  that  saved 
Nan  from  many  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Mrs.  Dorrington  was  in  her  own  room  when  Nan  found 
her,  sewing  and  singing  softly  to  herself,  the  picture  of 
happiness  and  content.  Nan  dropped  on  her  knees  be 
side  her  chair,  and  threw  her  arms  impulsively  around 
the  little  woman's  neck. 

[   137  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Tell  me  ever  what  it  is,  Nan,  before  you  smother- 
cate  me,"  said  Mrs.  Dorrington,  smoothing  the  girl's 
hair.  The  two  had  a  language  of  their  own,  which  the 
elder  had  learned  from  the  younger. 

"  It  is  the  most  miserable  misery,  Johnny.  Do  you 
remember  what  I  told  you  about  those  people?  " 

"  How  could  I  forget,  Nan?  " 

"  Well,  those  people  are  going  head  foremost  into 
trouble,  and  whatever  happens,  I  want  to  be  there." 

"  Oh,  is  that  so?  Well,  it  is  too  bad,"  said  the  little 
woman  sympathetically.  "  Perhaps  if  you  would  say 
something  about  it — not  too  much,  but  just  enough  for 
me  to  get  it  through  my  thick  numskull " 

Whereupon  Nan  told  of  all  the  fears  by  which  she  was 
beset,  and  of  all  the  troubles  that  racked  her  mind,  and 
the  two  had  quite  a  consultation. 

"  You  are  not  afraid  for  yourself ;  why  should  you 
be  afraid  for  those  people?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Dorrington, 
laying  great  stress  on  "  those  people,"  the  name  that 
Gabriel  went  by  when  Nan  and  Johnny  were  referring 
to  him. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Nan,  helplessly.  "  It 
isn't  because  of  what  you  would  guess  if  you  knew  no 
better.  I  have  a  very  great  friendship  for  those  people ; 
but  it  isn't  the  other  feeling — the  kind  that  you  were 
telling  me  about.  If  it  is — oh,  if  it  is — I  shall  never 
forgive  myself." 

"  In  time — yes.  It  is  quite  easy  to  forgive  yourself 
on  account  of  those  people.  I  found  it  so." 

"  Oh,  don't !  You  make  me  feel  as  if  I  ought  never 
to  speak  to  myself." 

f    138    | 


THE    TROUBLES    OF    NAN 

"  Then  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Dorrington,  calmly.  "  You 
can  speak  to  me  instead  of  to  that  ignorant  girl." 

"  Oh,  you  sweetest !  "  cried  Nan,  hugging  her  step 
mother  ;  "  I  am  going  to  have  you  for  my  doll." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Dorrington,  shrugging 
her  shoulders ;  "  but  you  will  have  some  trouble  on  your 
hands — yes,  more  than  those  people  give  you." 

"  Johnny,  you  are  my  little  mother,  and  you  never 
gave  me  any  trouble  in  your  life.  I  am  the  one  that 
is  troublesome;  I  am  troubling  you  now." 

"Silly  thing!  will  you  be  good?"  cried  Mrs.  Dor 
rington,  tapping  Nan  lightly  on  the  cheek.  "  How  can 
you  trouble  me  when  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  ?  You 
haven't  told  me." 

"  I  thought  you  could  guess  as  well  as  I  can,"  replied 
Nan. 

"  About  some  things — yes ;  but  not  about  this  ter 
rible  danger  that  is  to  overcome  those  people." 

Whereupon,  Nan  told  Mrs.  Dorrington  of  the  con 
versation  she  and  Gabriel  had  overheard.  To  this  in 
formation  she  added  her  suspicions  that  Gabriel  intended 
to  do  something  desperate;  and  then  she  gave  a  very 
vivid  description  of  the  strange  white  man,  of  his  pale 
and  eager  countenance,  his  glittering,  shifty  eyes,  and 
his  thin,  cruel  lips. 

Instead  of  shuddering,  as  she  should  have  done,  Mrs. 
Dorrington  laughed.  "  But  I  don't  see  what  the  trouble 
is,"  she  declared.  "  That  boy  is  ever  so  large ;  he  can 
take  care  of  himself.  But  if  you  think  not,  then  ask 
him  to  tea." 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Nan  frowned  heavily.  "  But,  Johnny,  tea  is  so  tame. 
Think  of  rescuing  a  friend  from  danger  by  means  of 
a  cup  of  tea !  Doesn't  it  seem  ridiculous  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  responded  Mrs.  Dorrington.  "  But 
it  isn't  half  so  ridiculous  as  your  make-believe.  Oh, 
Nan!  Nan!  when  will  you  come  down  from  your 
clouds?" 

Now,  Nan's  world  of  make-believe  was  as  natural  to 
her  as  the  persons  and  things  all  about  her.  No  sooner 
had  she  guessed  that  it  was  Gabriel's  intention  to  find 
out  what  the  Union  League  was  for,  and,  in  a  way, 
expose  himself  to  some  possible  danger  of  discovery, 
than  she  carried  the  whole  matter  into  her  land  of  make- 
believe  as  naturally  as  a  mocking-bird  carries  a  flake 
of  thistle-down  to  its  nest.  Once  there,  nothing  could 
be  more  reasonable  or  more  logical  than  the  terrible 
danger  to  which  Gabriel  would  be  exposed.  While  it 
lasted,  Nan's  feeling  of  anxiety  and  alarm  was  both  real 
and  sincere.  Mrs.  Absalom  could  never  enter  into  this 
world  of  Nan's;  she  was  too  practical  and  downright. 
And  yet  she  had  a  ready  sympathy  for  the  girl's  troubles 
and  humoured  her  without  stint,  though  she  sometimes 
declared  that  Nan  was  queer  and  flighty. 

Mrs.  Dorrington,  on  the  other  hand,  inheriting  the 
sensitive  and  artistic  temperament  of  Flavian  Dion,  her 
father,-  was  able  to  enter  heartily  into  the  most  of  Nan's 
vagaries.  Sometimes  she  humoured  them,  but  more  fre 
quently  she  laughed  at  them  as  the  girl  grew  older.  Oc 
casionally,  in  her  twilight  conversations  with  her  father, 
whose  gentleness  and  shyness  kept  him  in  the  background, 


THE    TROUBLES    OF    NAN 

Mrs.  Dorrington  would  deplore  Nan's  tendency  to  ex 
ploit  her  imagination. 

"  But  she  was  born  thus,  my  dear,"  Flavian  Dion 
would  reply,  speaking  the  picturesque  patois  of  New 
France.  "  It  will  either  be  her  great  misery,  or  her 
great  happiness.  How  was  it  with  me?  Once  it  was 
my  great  misery,  but  now — you  see  how  it  is.  Come !  we 
will  have  some  music,  if  Mademoiselle  the  Dreamer  is 
willing." 

And  then  they  would  go  into  the  parlour,  where,  with 
Mrs.  Dorrington  at  the  piano,  Flavian  Dion  with  his 
violin,  and  Nan  with  her  voice,  which  was  rich  and  strong, 
they  would  render  the  beautiful  folk-songs  of  France. 
Moreover,  Flavian  Dion  had  caught  many  of  the  plan 
tation  melodies,  of  which  Nan  knew  the  words,  and  when 
the  French  songs  were  exhausted,  they  would  fall  back 
on  these.  It  frequently  happened  that  Mademoiselle  the 
Dreamer  would  add  feet  as  well  as  voice  to  the  negro 
melodies,  especially  if  Tasma  Tid  were  there  to  incite 
her,  and  the  way  that  Nan  reproduced  steps  and  poses 
was  both  wonderful  and  inimitable. 

The  reader  who  takes  the  trouble  to  make  inferences 
as  he  goes  along,  will  perceive  that  Nan's  solicitude  for 
Gabriel  was  no  compliment  to  him ;  it  was  not  flattering 
to  the  heroism  of  a  young  man  who  was  threatening  to 
grow  a  moustache,  for  a  young  lady  to  believe,  or 
even  pretend  to  believe,  that  he  needed  to  be  rescued 
from  some  imaginary  danger.  Gabriel  was  strong 
enough  to  take  a  man's  place  at  a  log-rolling,  and  he 
would  have  had  small  relish  for  the  information  if  he 

[  141  1 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

had  been  told  that  Nan  Dorrington  was  planning  to 
rescue  him. 

Let  the  simple  truth  be  told.  Gabriel  was  no  hero 
in  Nan's  eyes.  He  was  merely  a  friend  and  former  com 
rade,  who  now  was  in  sad  need  of  some  one  to  take  care 
of  him.  That  was  her  belief,  and  she  would  have  shrunk 
from  the  idea  that  Gabriel  would  one  day  be  her  lover. 
She  had  quite  other  views.  Yes,  indeed !  Her  lover  must 
be  a  man  who  had  passed  through  some  desperate  ex 
periences.  He  must  be  a  hero  with  sword  and  plume,  a 
cutter  and  slasher,  a  man  who  had  a  relish  for  bloodshed, 
such  as  she  had  read  about  in  the  romances  she  had  appro 
priated  from  her  father's  library. 

Nan  had  brought  over  from  her  childhood  many  queer 
dreams  and  fancies.  Once  upon  a  time,  she  had  heard 
her  elders  talking  of  John  A.  Murrell,  the  notorious 
land-pirate  and  highwayman.  The  man  was  one  of  the 
coarsest  and  cruellest  of  modern  ruffians,  but  about  his 
name  the  common  people  had  placed  a  halo  of  romance. 
It  was  said  of  him  that  he  rescued  beautiful  maidens 
from  their  abductors,  and  restored  them  to  their  friends, 
and  that  he  robbed  the  rich  only  to  give  to  the  poor. 
Sad  to  say,  this  ruffian  was  Nan's  ideal  hero. 

And  now,  when  she  was  racking  her  brains  to  invent 
some  bold  and  simple  plan  for  the  rescue  of  Gabriel,  her 
mind  reverted  to  this  ideal  hero  of  her  childhood. 

"  If  you  insist,  Johnny,  I'll  ask  Gabriel  to  tea,"  Nan 
remarked  for  the  second  time ;  "  but,  as  you  say,  it  is 
perfectly  ridiculous.  Whoever  heard  of  rescuing  per 
sons  by  inviting  them  to  supper  ?  "  She  paused  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  went  on  with  a  sigh  that  would  have 

[  142  ] 


THE    TROUBLES    OF    NAN 

sounded  very  real  in  Mrs.  Absalom's  ears,  but  which 
simply  brought  a  smile  to  Mrs.  Dorrington's  face — 
"  Heigh-ho !  What  a  pity  John  A.  Murrell  isn't  alive 
to-day !  " 

"  And  who  is  this  Mr.  Murrell  ?  "  Mrs.  Dorrington 
asked. 

"  He  was  a  fierce  robber-chief,"  replied  Nan,  placidly. 
"  He  wore  a  big  black  beard,  and  a  hat  with  a  red  feather 
in  it.  Over  his  left  shoulder  was  a  red  sash,  and  he  rode 
a  big  white  horse.  He  carried  two  big  pistols  and  a 
bowie-knife — Nonny  can  tell  you  all  about  him." 

Whereupon,  Mrs.  Dorrington  jumped  from  her  chair, 
and  made  an  effort  to  catch  the  young  romancer ;  and  in 
a  moment,  the  laughter  of  the  pursuer,  and  the  shrieks 
of  the  pursued,  when  she  thought  she  was  in  danger  of 
being  caught,  roused  the  echoes  in  the  old  house.  Mrs. 
Absalom,  who  was  in  the  kitchen,  laughed  and  shook  her 
head.  "  I  believe  them  two  scamps  will  be  children  when 
they  are  sixty  year  old !  " 

But  after  awhile,  when  their  romp  was  over,  Nan  sud 
denly  discovered  that  she  had  been  in  very  high  spirits, 
and  this,  according  to  the  constitution  and  by-laws  of 
the  land  of  make-believe,  was  an  unpardonable  offence, 
especially  when,  as  now,  a  very  dear  friend  was  in  dan 
ger.  So  she  went  out  upon  the  veranda,  and  half-way 
down  the  steps,  where  she  seated  herself  in  an  attitude 
of  extreme  dejection. 

While  sitting  there,  Nan  suddenly  remembered  that 
she  did  have  a  grievance  and  a  very  real  one.  Tasma 
Tid  was  in  a  state  of  insurrection.  She  had  not  been 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

permitted  to  accompany  her  young  mistress  when  the 
latter  visited  her  girl-friends,  and  for  a  long  time  she 
had  been  sulking  and  pouting.  An  effort  had  been  made 
to  induce  Tasma  Tid  to  make  herself  useful,  but  even 
the  strong  will  of  Mrs.  Absalom  collapsed  when  it  found 
itself  in  conflict  with  the  bright-eyed  African. 

Tasma  Tid  had  been  wounded  in  her  tenderest  part — 
her  affections.  Her  sentiments  and  emotions,  being 
primitive,  were  genuine.  Her  grief,  when  separated 
from  Nan,  was  very  keen.  She  refused  to  eat,  and  for 
the  most  part  kept  herself  in  seclusion,  and  no  one  was 
able  to  find  her  hiding-place.  Now,  when  Nan  threw 
herself  upon  the  steps  in  an  attitude  of  dejection,  with 
her  head  on  her  arm,  it  happened  that  Tasma  Tid  was 
prowling  about  with  the  hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of 
her.  The  African,  slipping  around  the  house,  suddenly 
came  plump  upon  the  object  of  her  search.  She  stood 
still,  and  drew  a  long  breath.  Here  was  Honey  Nan 
apparently  in  deep  trouble.  Tasma  Tid  crept  up  the 
steps  as  silently  as  a  ghost,  and  sat  beside  the  prostrate 
form.  If  Nan  knew,  she  made  no  sign;  nor  did  she 
move  when  the  African  laid  a  caressing  hand  on  her 
hair.  It  was  only  when  Tasma  Tid  leaned  over  and 
kissed  Nan  on  the  hand  that  she  stirred.  She  raised  her 
head,  saying, 

"You  shouldn't  do  that,  Tasma  Tid;  I'm  too 
mean." 

"  How  come  you  dis  away,  Honey  Nan?  "  inquired  the 
African  in  a  low  tone.  "  Who  been-a  hu't  you?  " 

"  No  one,"  replied  Nan;   "  I  am  just  mean." 
[    144  I 


THE    TROUBLES    OF    NAN 

"  'Tis  ain't  so,  nohow.  Somebody  been-a  hu't  you. 
You  show  dem  ter  Tasma  Tid — dee  ain't  hu't  you  no 
mo'." 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  Why  did  you  go  away  and 
leave  me?  " 

"  Nobody  want  we  fer  stay.  You  go  off,  an'  den  we 
go  off.  We  go  off  an'  walk,  walk,  walk  in  de  graveyard 
— walk,  walk,  walk  in  de  graveyard;  an'  den  we  go 
home  way  off  yander  in  de  woods." 

"  Home !  why  this  is  your  home ;  it  shall  always  be 
your  home,"  cried  Nan,  touched  by  the  forlorn  look  in 
Tasma  Tid's  eyes,  and  the  despairing  expression  in  her 
voice. 

"  No,  no,  Honey  Nan ;  'tis-a  no  home  fer  we  when 
you  drive  we  'way  fum  foller  you,  when  you  shak-a  yo' 
haid  ef  we  come  trot,  trot  'hind  you.  We  no  want  home 
lak  dat.  No,  no,  Honey  Nan.  We  make  home  in  de 
woods." 

"  Where  is  your  home?  "  Nan  inquired,  full  of  curi 
osity. 

"  We  take-a  you  dey  when  dem  sun  go  'way." 

"  Well,  you  must  stay  here,"  said  Nan,  emphatically. 
"  You  shall  follow  me  wherever  I  go." 

"  You  talk-a  so  dis  time,  Honey  Nan ;  nex'  time — " 
Tasma  Tid  ran  down  the  steps,  and  went  along  the  walk 
mimicking  Nan's  movements,  shaking  her  frock  first  on 
one  side  and  then  on  the  other.  Then  she  looked  over 
her  shoulder,  turned  around  with  a  frown,  stamped  her 
foot  and  made  menacing  gestures  with  her  hands.  "  Dat 
how  'twill  be  nex'  time,  Honey  Nan." 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Hearing  Mrs.  Absalom  laughing,  Nan  conjectured 
that  she  had  witnessed  Tasma  Tid's  performance.  Non- 
ny,"  she  cried,  "  do  I  really  walk  that  way,  and  finger 
my  skirt  so?  " 

"  To  a  t,"  said  Mrs.  Absalom,  laughing  louder.  "  Ef 
she  was  a  foot  an'  a  half  higher,  I'd  'a'  made  shore  it 
was  you  practisin'  ag'in  the  time  when  you'll  mince  by 
the  store  where  old  Silas  Tomlin's  yearlin'  is  clerkin',  or 
by  the  tavern  peazzer,  where  Frank  Bethune  an'  the  rest 
of  the  loafers  set  at.  It's  among  the  merikels  that  Gabe 
Tollivcr  don't  mix  wi'  that  crowd.  I  reckon  maybe  it's 
bekaze  he  jest  natchally  too  wuthless." 

"  Now,  Nonny !  I  don't  think  }^ou  ought  to  make  fun 
of  me,"  protested  Nan.  "  I  am  perfectly  certain  that 
I  don't  mince  when  I  walk,  and  you  are  always  complain 
ing  that  I  don't  care  how  my  clothes  look." 

"  Go  roun'  to  the  kitchen,  you  black  slink,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Absalom,  addressing  Tasma  Tid,  "  an'  git  your 
dinner!  You've  traipsed  and  trolloped  until  I  bet  you 
can  gulp  down  all  the  vittles  on -the  place." 

"  And  when  you  have  finished  your  dinner,  come  to 
my  room,"  said  Nan. 

It  was  not  often  that  Nan  was  to  be  found  in  her  own 
room  during  the  day,  but  now  she  remembered  that  she 
had  promised  to  spend  the  night  with  Eugenia  Clai- 
borne ;  and  how  was  she  to  invite  Gabriel  to  tea,  as  Mrs. 
Dorrington  had  suggested?  There  was  but  one  thing 
to  do,  and  that  was  to  break  her  engagement  with  Eu 
genia.  She  was  of  half  a  dozen  minds  what  to  say  to 
her  friend.  She  wrote  note  after  note,  only  to  destroy 

[  11C  ] 


THE    TROUBLES    OF    NAN 

each  one.  She  pulled  her  nose,  stuck  out  her  tongue, 
looked  at  the  ceiling,  and  bit  her  thumb,  but  all  to  no 
purpose. 

Tasma  Tid,  who  had  finished  her  dinner,  sat  on  the 
floor  eying  Nan  as  an  intelligent  dog  eyes  its  master, 
ready  to  respond  to  look,  word  or  gesture.  Finally,  the 
African,  seeing  Nan's  perplexity,  made  a  suggestion. 

"  Make  dem  cuss-words  come,"  she  said.  Tasma  Tid 
had  heard  men  use  profane  language  when  fretted  or 
irritated,  and  she  supposed  that  it  was  a  remedy  for 
troubles  both  small  and  large. 

"  Be  jigged  if  I  haven't  a  mind  to,"  cried  Nan,  laugh 
ing  at  the  African's  earnestness. 

But  at  last  she  flung  her  pen  down,  seized  her  hat,  and, 
with  an  unspoken  invitation  to  Tasma  Tid,  went  out  into 
the  street,  determined  to  go  to  the  Gaither  Place,  where 
Eugenia  lived,  and  present  her  excuses  in  person. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 


Mr.  Sanders  in  His  Cups 

W  HEN  Nan  came  in  sight  of  the  court-house  she  saw 
a  crowd  of  men  and  boys  gazing  at  some  spectacle  on  the 
side  opposite  her.  Some  were  laughing,  while  others 
had  serious  faces.  Among  them  she  noticed  Francis 
Bethune,  and  she  also  saw  Gabriel,  who  was  standing 
apart  from  the  rest  with  a  very  gloomy  countenance. 
Arriving  near  the  crowd,  she  paused  to  discover  what  had 
excited  their  curiosity ;  and  there  before  her  eyes,  seated 
on  the  court-house  steps,  was  Mr.  Billy  Sanders,  relat 
ing  to  an  imaginary  audience  some  choice  incidents  in 
his  family  history.  His  hat  was  off,  and  his  face  was 
very  red. 

As  Nan  listened,  he  was  telling  how  his  "  pa  "  and 
"  ma  "  had  married  in  South  Carolina,  and  had  subse 
quently  moved  to  Jasper  County  in  Georgia.  In  com 
ing  away  (according  to  Mr.  Sanders's  version),  they  had 
fetched  a  half  dozen  hogs  too  many,  and  maybe  a  cow 
or  two  that  didn't  belong  to  them.  By-and-by  the  own 
ers  of  the  stock  appeared  in  the  neighbourhood  where  Mr. 
Sanders,  Sr.,  had  settled,  found  the  missing  property, 
and  carried  him  away  with  them.  They  had,  or  claimed 
to  have,  a  warrant,  and  they  hustled  the  pioneer  off  to 
South  Carolina,  and  put  him  in  jail. 

\    148    1 


MR.    SANDERS    IN    HIS   CUPS 

"  Now,  Sally  Hart  was  Nancy's  own  gal,"  said  Mr. 
Sanders,  pausing  to  take  a  nip  from  a  bottle  he  carried 
in  his  pocket.  "  She  was  a  chip  off'n  the  old  block  ef 
they  ever  was  a  block  that  had  a  chip.  So  Sally  (that 
was  ma)  she  went  polin'  off  to  Sou'  Ca'liny.  The  night 
she  got  to  whar  she  was  agwine,  she  tore  a  hole  in  the 
side  of  the  jail  that  you  could  'a'  driv  a  buggy  through. 
Then  she  took  poor  pa  by  one  ear,  an'  fetched  him  home. 
An'  that  ain't  all.  Arter  she  got  him  home,  she  took  a 
rawhide  an'  liter'ly  wore  pa  out.  She  said  arterwards 
that  she  didn't  larrup  him  for  fetchin'  the  stock  off,  but 
for  layin'  up  there  in  jail  an'  lettin'  his  crap  spile.  Well, 
that  frailin'  made  a  good  Christian  of  pa.  He  j'ined 
the  church,  an'  would  'a'  been  a  preacher,  but  ma 
wouldn't  let  him.  She  allowed  they'd  be  too  much  gad- 
din'  about,  an'  maybe  a  little  too  much  honeyin'  up  wi' 
the  sisterin'.  '  No,'  says  she,  '  ef  you  want  to  do  good 
prayin',  pray  whilst  you're  ploughin'.  I'll  look  arter  the 
hoein'  myself,'  says  she." 

Mr.  Sanders  was  not  regarded  as  a  dangerous  man  in 
his  cups,  but  on  one  well-remembered  occasion  he  had 
fired  into  a  crowd  of  men  who  were  inclined  to  be  too 
familiar,  and  since  that  day  he  had  been  given  a  wide 
berth  when  he  took  a  seat  on  the  court-house  steps  and 
began  to  recite  his  family  history.  While  Nan  stood 
there,  Mr.  Sanders  drew  a  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and, 
smiling  blandly,  began  to  flourish  it  around.  As  he  did 
so,  Gabriel  Tolliver  sprang  into  the  street  and  ran  rapidly 
toward  him.  Some  one  in  the  crowd  uttered  a  cry  of 
warning.  Seized  by  some  blind  impulse  Nan  ran  after 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Gabriel.  Francis  Bethune  caught  her  arm  as  she  ran 
by  him,  but  she  wrenched  herself  from  his  grasp,  and  ran 
faster  than  ever. 

"  Stand  back  there !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanders  in  an 
angry  voice,  raising  his  pistol.  For  one  brief  moment, 
the  spectators  thought  that  Gabriel  was  doomed,  for  he 
went  on  without  wavering.  But  he  was  really  in  no 
danger.  Mr.  Sanders  had  mistaken  him  for  some  of 
the  young  men  who  had  been  taunting  him  as  they  stood 
at  a  safe  distance.  But  when  he  saw  who  it  was,  he  re 
placed  the  pistol  in  his  pocket,  remarking,  "  You  ought 
to  hang  out  your  sign,  Gabe.  Ef  I  hadn't  'a'  had  on 
my  furseein'  specks,  I'm  afear'd  I'd  a  plugged  you." 

At  that  moment  Nan  arrived  on  the  scene,  her  anger 
at  white  heat.  She  caught  her  breath,  and  then  stood 
looking  at  Mr.  Sanders,  with  eyes  that  fairly  blazed 
with  scorn  and  anger.  "  Ef  looks'd  burn,  honey,  they 
wouldn't  be  a  cinder  left  of  me,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  mov 
ing  uneasily.  "  Arter  she's  through  wi'  me,  Gabriel, 
plant  me  in  a  shady  place,  an'  make  old  Tar-Baby  thar," 
indicating  Tasma  Tid,  who  had  followed  Nan — "  make 
old  Tar-Baby  thar  set  on  my  grave,  an'  warm  it  up  once 
in  awhile.  I  leave  you  my  Sunday  shirts  wi'  the  frills 
on  'em,  Gabriel,  an'  my  Sunday  boots  wi'  the  red  tops; 
an'  have  a  piece  put  in  the  Malvern  paper,  statin'  that 
I  was  one  of  the  most  populous  and  public-spcrretcd 
citizens  of  the  county.  An'  tell  how  I  went  about  killin' 
jimson  weeds  an'  curkle-burrs  for  my  neighbours  by 
blowin'  my  breath  on  'cm." 

What  Nan  had  intended  to  say,  she  left  unsaid.     Her 


MR.     SANDERS     IN    HIS   CUPS 

feelings  reacted  while  Mr.  Sanders  was  talking,  and  she 
turned  her  back  on  him  and  -began  to  cry.  Under  the 
circumstances,  it  was  the  very  thing  to  do.  Mr.  Sanders's 
face  fell.  "  I'll  tell  you  the  honest  truth,  Gabriel— I 
never  know'd  that  anybody  in  the  roun'  world  keer'd  a 
continental  whether  I  was  drunk  or  sober,  alive  or  dead ; 
an'  I'd  lots  ruther  some  un  'd  stick  a  knife  through  my 
gizzard  than  to  see  that  child  cryin'." 

He  rose  and  went  to  Nan — he  was  not  too  tipsy  to 
walk — and  tried  to  lay  his  hand  on  her  arm,  but  she 
whirled  away  from  him.  "  Honey,"  he  said,  "  what  must 
I  do?  I'll  do  anything  in  the  world  you  say." 

"  Go  home  and  try  to  be  decent,"  she  answered. 

"  I  will,  honey,  ef  you  an'  Gabriel  will  go  wi'  me. 
I  need  some  un  for  to  keep  the  boogers  off.  You  git  on 
the  lead  side,  honey,  an'  Gabriel,  you  be  the  off-hoss. 
Now,  hitch  on  here  " — he  held  out  both  elbows,  so  that 
each  could  take  him  by  an  arm — "  an'  when  you're  ready 
to  start,  give  the  word." 

.Nan  dried  her  eyes  as  quickly  as  she  could,  but  before 
she  would  consent  to  go  with  Mr.  Sanders,  insisted  on 
searching  him.  She  found  a  flask  of  apple-brandy,  and 
hurled  it  against  the  side  of  the  court-house. 

"  Nan,"  he  said  ruefully,  "  that's  twice  you've  broke 
my  heart  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Ain't  there  some  way 
you  can  break  Gabriel's  ?  "  He  paused  and  sniffed  the 
fumes  of  the  apple-brandy.  "  It's  a  mighty  good  thing 
court  ain't  in  session,"  he  remarked,  "  bekaze  the  judge 
an'  jury  an'  all  the  lawyers  would  come  pourin'  out  for 
to  smell  at  that  wall  there.  You  say  they  ain't  no  way 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

for  you  to  break  Gabriel's  heart,  too  ?  "  he  asked  again, 
turning  to  Nan. 

"  I  just  know  my  eyes  are  a  sight,"  she  said  in  reply. 
"  Are  they  red  and  swollen,  Gabriel?  " 

"  They  are  somewhat  red,  but " 

"  But  what?  "  she  asked,  as  Gabriel  paused. 

"  They  are  just  as  pretty  as  ever." 

"  Mr.  Sanders,  that  is  the  first  compliment  he  ever 
paid  me  in  his  life." 

"  You'll  remember  it  longer  on  that  account,"  said 
Mr.  Sanders.  "  Gabriel  is  lazy-minded,  but  he'll 
brighten  up  arter  awhile.  Speakin'  of  fust  an'  last,  an' 
things  of  that  kind,"  he  went  on,  "  I  reckon  this  is  the 
fust  time  I  ever  come  betwixt  you  children.  I  hope  no 
harm's  done." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  N$n,  addressing  Gabriel  with  a 
pretty  formality,  "  since  you  are  kind  enough  to  pay 
me  a  compliment,  I'll  be  bold  enough  to  ask  you  to  take 
tea  with  me  this  evening;  and  I'll  have  no  refusal." 

Gabriel  found  himself  in  an  awkward  predicament. 
He  felt  bound  to  discover  what  part  the  Union  League 
was  playing.  He  had  read  of  its  sinister  influence  in 
other  parts  of  the  South,  and  he  judged  that  the  hour 
of  its  organisation  at  Shady  Dale  was  the  aptest  time 
for  such  a  discovery.  He  couldn't  tell  Nan  what  his 
plans  were — he  had  no  idea  that  she  had  already  guessed 
them — and  he  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  He  was  thor 
oughly  uncomfortable.  He  was  silent  so  long  that  Mr. 
Sanders  had  an  opportunity  to  ask  Nan  if  she  hadn't 
made  a  remark  to  Gabriel. 

[   152  1 


MR.     SANDERS     IN    HIS   CUPS 

"  Yes ;  I  asked  him  to  tea,"  she  replied  in  a  low  voice ; 
"  he  has  forgotten  it  by  this  time."  But  Nan  well  knew 
why  Gabriel  was  silent;  she  was  neither  vexed  nor  sur 
prised  at  his  hesitation.  Nevertheless,  she  must  play 
her  part. 

"  Give  him  time,  Nan ;  give  him  time,"  said  Mr. 
Sanders,  consolingly.  "  Gabriel  comes  of  a  stuttering 
family.  They  say  it  took  his  grandma  e'en  about  seven 
year  to  tell  Dick  Lumsden  she'd  have  him.  I  lay  Ga 
briel  is  composin'  in  his  mind  a  flowery  piece  sorter  like, 
6  Here's  my  heart,  an'  here's  my  hand ;  ef  you  ax  me  to 
tea,  I'm  your'n  to  command.' ' 

"  I'm  sorry  I  can't  come,  Nan,  but  I  can't ;  and  it's 
just  my  luck  that  you  should  invite  me  to-day,"  said 
Gabriel,  finally. 

"  You  have  another  engagement  ?  "  asked  Nan. 

"  No,  not  an  engagement,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  you  are  going  to  do  something  very  unneces 
sary  and  improper,"  said  Nan,  with  the  air  and  tone  of 
a  mature  woman.  "  You  are  sure  to  get  into  trouble. 
Why  don't  you  ask  your  Mr.  Bethune  to  take  your  place, 
or  at  least  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  talk  as  if  you  knew  what  I  am  going  to 
do,"  remarked  Gabriel ;  "  but  you  couldn't  guess  in  a 
week." 

At  this  point  Mr.  Sanders  tried  to  stop  in  order  to 
deliver  an  address.  "  I  bet  you — I  bet  you  a  seven- 
pence  ag'in  a  speckled  hen  that  Nan  knows  precisely 
what  you're  up  to." 

But  Nan  and  Gabriel  pulled  him  along  in  spite  of 
[  153  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

his  frequently  expressed  desire  to  "  lay  down  in  the  road 
an'  take  a  nap."  "  It's  a  shame,"  he  said,  "  for  a  great 
big  gal  an'  a  great  big  boy  to  be  harryin'  a  man  as  old 
as  me.  Why  don't  you  ketch  hands  an'  run  to  play? 
No,  nothin'  will  do,  but  you  must  worry  William  H.  San 
ders,  late  of  said  county."  He  received  no  reply  to  this, 
and  continued:  "  I'm  glad  I  took  too  much,  Gabriel,  ef 
only  for  one  thing.  You  know  what  I  told  you  about 
Nan's  temper — well,  you've  seed  it  for  yourself.  She's 
f railed  Frank,  she'd  'a'  f railed  me  j  cst  now  ef  you  hadn't 
V  been  on  hand,  an'  she'll  frail  you  out  before  long. 
She's  jest  turrible." 

Mr.  Sanders  kept  up  his  good-humour  all  the  way 
home,  and  when  he  had  been  placed  in  charge  of  Uncle 
Plato,  who  knew  how  to  deal  with  him,  he  said :  "  Now, 
fellers,  I  had  a  mighty  good  reason  for  restin'  my  mind. 
You  cried  bekase  old  Billy  Sanders  was  drunk,  didn't 
you,  Nan?  Well,  I'm  mighty  glad  you  did.  I  never 
know'd  before  that  a  sob  or  two  would  make  a  Son  of 
Temperance  of  a  man ;  but  that's  what  they'll  do  for  me. 
Nobody  in  this  world  will  ever  see  me  drunk  ag'in.  So 
long!" 

It  may  be  said  here  that  Mr.  Sanders  kept  his  promise. 
The  events  which  followed  required  clear  heads  and 
steady  hands  for  their  shaping,  but  each  crisis,  as  it 
arose,  found  Mr.  Sanders,  and  a  few  others  who  acted 
with  him,  fully  prepared  to  meet  it,  though  there  were 
times  and  occasions  when  he,  as  well  as  the  rest,  was  over 
taken  by  a  profound  sense  of  his  helplessness.  Some 
fell  into  melancholy,  and  some  were  overtaken  by  dejec- 

[  is*  1 


MR.     SANDERS     IN    HIS   CUPS 

tion,  but  Mr.  Sanders  never  for  a  moment  forgot  to  be 
cheerful. 

"  I  don't  suppose  there  is  another  girl  in  the  country 
who  would  make  such  a  spectacle  of  herself  as  I  made 
to-day,"  said  Nan,  as  she  and  Gabriel  walked  slowly  in 
the  direction  of  town. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  inquired  Gabriel. 
"You   know    well    enough,"    replied    Nan.      "Why, 
think  of  a  young  woman  rushing  across  the  public  square 
in  the  face  of  a  crowd,  and  doing  as  I  did !     I'll  be  the 
talk  of  the  town.    What  is  your  opinion  ?  " 

"  Well,  considering  who  the  man  was,  and  every 
thing,  I  think  it  was  very  becoming  in  you,",  replied 
Gabriel. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  said  Nan.  "  Under  the  circum 
stances,  you  could  say  no  less.  You  have  changed  great 
ly,  Gabriel,  since  Eugenia  Claiborne  began  to  make  eyes 
at  you.  You  seem  to  think  it  is  a  mark  of  politeness  to 
pay  compliments  right  and  left,  and  to  agree  with  every 
body.  No  doubt,  if  an  invitation  to  tea  had  come  from 
further  up  the  street,  you  would  have  found  some  ex 
cuse  for  accepting." 

Nan's  logic  was  quite  feminine,  but  Gabriel  took  no 
advantage  of  that  fact.  "  I'm  sorry  I  can't  come,  Nan, 
and  I  hope  you'll  not  be  angry." 

"  Angry !  why  should  I  be  angry  ?  "  Nan  exclaimed. 
"  An  invitation  to  tea  is  not  so  important." 

"  But  this  one  is  important  to  me,"  said  Gabriel.    "  It 
.is  the  first  time  you  have  asked  me,  and  I  hope  it  won't 
be  the  last." 

[   155  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Nan  said  nothing  more  until  she  bade  Gabriel 
good-bye  at  her  father's  gate.  He  thought  she  was 
angry,  while  she  was  wondering  if  he  considered  her 
bold. 


[  156] 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 


Caught  in  a  Corner 

IT  was  no  difficult  matter  for  Nan  Dorrington  to  infer 
what  course  of  action  Gabriel  intended  to  pursue.  The 
Union  Leagues  established  in  the  South  under  the  au 
spices  of  the  political  department  of  the  Freedman's 
Bureau  had  already  excited  the  suspicion  of  the  whites. 
The  reputation  they  instantly  achieved  was  extremely 
sinister,  and  they  had  become  the  source  of  much  un 
easiness.  There  was  an  air  of  mystery  about  them 
which,  however  pleasing  it  might  be  to  the  negroes,  was 
not  at  all  relished  by  those  who  had  been  made  the  vic 
tims  of  radical  legislation.  There  were  wild  rumours 
to  the  effect  that  the  object  of  these  leagues  was  to  or 
ganise  the  negroes  and  prepare  them  for  an  armed  at 
tack  on  the  whites. 

These  rumours  were  to  be  seen  spread  out  in  the  news 
papers,  and  were  to  be  heard  wherever  people  gathered 
together.  Nan  was  familiar  with  them,  and,  while  both 
she  and  Gabriel  were  possibly  too  young  to  harbour  all 
the  anxieties  entertained  by  their  elders,  they  neverthe 
less  took  a  very  keen  interest  in  the  situation;  and  it 
was  not  less  keen  because  it  had  curiosity  for  its  basis. 

Gabriel  had  no  sooner  digested  the  purport  of  the 
f  157  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

• 

conversation  to  which  he  had  listened  than  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  unravel,  if  he  could,  the  mystery  of  the 
Union  League,  and  to  discover  what  part  the  new-comer, 
the  companion  of  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  Tomlin,  proposed 
to  play.  It  was  characteristic  of  the  lad  that  he  should 
act  promptly.  When  he  left  Nan  so  unceremoniously, 
he  ran  to  the  Clopton  Place  to  report  what  he  had  heard 
to  Mr.  Sanders,  but  he  found  that  worthy  citizen  in  no 
condition  to  give  him  aid,  or  even  advice.  Meriwether 
Clopton  chanced  to  be  in  consultation  with  some  gentle 
man  from  Atlanta,  and  could  not  be  seen,  while  Francis 
Bethune  was  said  to  be  in  town  somewhere. 

It  was  then  that  Gabriel  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  act  alone.  He  knew  the  old  school-house  in  which 
the  league  was  to  be  organised,  as  well  as  he  knew  his 
own  home.  It  had  formerly  been  called  the  Shady  Dale 
Male  Academy,  and  its  reputation,  before  the  war,  had 
gone  far  and  wide.  Gabriel  had  spent  many  a  happy 
hour  there,  and  some  that  were  memorably  unpleasant, 
especially  during  the  term  that  a  school-master  by  the 
name  of  McManus  wielded  the  rod.  Among  the  things 
that  Gabriel  remembered  was  the  fact  that  the  space 
under  the  stairway — the  building  had  two  stories — was 
boarded  up  so  as  to  form  a  large  closet,  where  the  pupils 
deposited  their  extra  coats  and  wraps,  as  well  as  their 
lunches.  The  closet  had  also  been  used  as  a  reforma 
tory  for  refractory  pupils,  and  this  was  one  reason  why 
Gabriel  remembered  it  so  well;  he  had  spent  numerous 
uncomfortable  hours  there  at  a  time  when  darkness  and 
isolation  had  real  terrors  for  him. 

I    158  ] 


CAUGHT    IN    A    CORNER 

The  building  had  been  abandoned  by  the  whites  dur 
ing  the  war,  and  was  for  a  time  used  as  a  hospital.  At 
the  close  of  the  war  it  was  turned  over  to  the  negroes, 
who  established  there  a  flourishing  school,  which  was  pre 
sided  over  by  a  native  Southerner,  an  old  gentleman 
whom  the  war  had  stripped  of  this  world's  goods. 

Gabriel  thought  it  best  to  begin  operations  before  the 
sun  went  down.  He  made  a  detour  wide  enough  to  place 
the  school-house  between  him  and  Shady  Dale,  so  that 
if  by  any  chance  his  movements  should  attract  attention 
he  would  have  the  appearance  of  approaching  the  build 
ing  quite  by  accident.  Under  the  circumstances,  it  was 
perhaps  fortunate  that  he  took  this  precaution,  for 
when  he  drew  near  the  school-house,  the  Rev.  Jeremiah 
Tomlin  was  standing  in  the  back  door  flourishing  a 
broom. 

"  Hello,  Jeremiah !  "  said  Gabriel  by  way  of  saluta 
tion.  "What's  up  now?" 

"  Good-evenin',  Mister  Gabe,"  responded  the  Rev. 
Jeremiah.  "  Dey  been  havin'  some  plasterin'  done  in 
my  chu'ch,  suh,  an'  we  'lowd  we'd  hoi'  pra'r-meetin'  here 
ter-night.  An'  I'll  tell  you  why,  suh :  You  know  mighty 
well  how  we  coloured  folks  does — we  ain't  got  nothin' 
fer  ter  hide,  an'  we  couldn't  hide  it  ef  we  did  had  sump'n. 
Well,  suh,  dem  mongst  us  what  got  any  erligion  is  bleeze 
ter  show  it ;  when  de  sperret  move  um,  dey  bleeze  ter  let 
one  an'er  know  it;  an'  in  dat  way,  suh,  dey  do  a  heap 
er  movin'  'bout.  Dey  rastles  wid  Satan,  ez  you  may 
say,  when  dey  gits  in  a  weavin'  way;  an'  I  wuz  fear'd, 
suh,  dat  dey  mought  shake  de  damp  plasterin'  down." 


GABRIEL    TOL LIVER 

"  But  you  have  no  pulpit  here,"  suggested  Gabriel, 
who  associated  a  pulpit  with  all  religious  gatherings. 

"  So  much  de  better,  suh,"  replied  the  Rev.  Jeremiah. 
"  Ef  you  wuz  ter  come  ter  my  chu'ch,  you'd  allers  see 
me  come  down  when  I  gits  warmed  up.  Dey  ain't  no  pul 
pit  big  nuff  for  me  long  about  dat  time.  No,  suh ;  I'm 
bleeze  ter  have  elbow-room,  an'  I'm  mighty  glad  dey 
ain't  no  pulpit  in  here.  But  whar  you  been,  Mr.  Gabe?  " 
inquired  the  Rev.  Jeremiah,  craftily  changing  the  sub 
ject. 

"  Just  walking  about  in  the  woods  and  fields,"  an 
swered  Gabriel. 

"  'Twant  no  use  f er  ter  ax  you,  suh ;  you  been  doin' 
dat  sence  you  wuz  big  nuff  ter  clime  a  fence.  Ef  you 
wan't  wid  Miss  Nan,  you  wuz  by  yo'se'f.  I  uv  seed  you 
many  a  day,  suh,  when  you  didn't  see  me.  You  wuz 
wid  Miss  Nan  dis  ve'y  day."  The  Rev.  Jeremiah  dropped 
his  head  to  one  side,  and  smiled  a  knowing  smile.  "  Oh, 
you  needn't  be  shame  un  it,  suh,"  the  negro  went  on  as 
the  colour  slowly  mounted  to  Gabriel's  face.  "  I  uv  said 
it  befo'  an'  I'll  say  it  ag'in,  an'  I  don't  keer  who  hears 
me — Miss  Nan  is  boun'  ter  make  de  finest  'oman  in  de 
Ian'.  An'  dat  ain't  all,  suh:  when  I  hear  folks  hintin' 
dat  she's  gwine  ter  make  a  match  wid  Mr.  Frank  Be- 
thune,  sez  I, '  Des  keep  yo'  eye  on  Mr.  Gabe  ' ;  dat  zackly 
what  I  sez." 

"  Oh,  the  dickens  and  Tom  Walker !  "  exclaimed  Ga 
briel  impatiently ;  "  who's  been  talking  of  the  affairs 
of  Miss  Dorrington  in  that  way  ?  " 

"  Why,  purty  nigh  cve'ybody,  suh,"  remarked  the 
f  160  | 


CAUGHT    IN    A    CORNER 

Rev.  Jeremiah,  smacking  his  lips.  "  What  white  folks 
say  in  de  parlour,  you  kin  allers  hear  in  dc  kitchen." 

After  firing  this  homely  truth  at  Gabriel,  the  Rev. 
Jeremiah  went  to  work  with  his  broom  and  made  a  great 
pretence  of  sweeping  and  moving  the  benches  about.  The 
lad  followed  him  in,  and  looked  about  him  with  interest. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  revisited  the  old  school- 
house  since  he  was  a  boy  of  ten,  and  he  was  pleased  to 
find  that  there  had  been  few  changes.  The  desk  at  which 
he  had  sat  was  intact.  His  initials,  rudely  carved,  stared 
him  in  the  face,  and  there,  too,  was  the  hole  he  had  cut 
in  the  seat.  He  remembered  that  this  was  a  dungeon 
in  which  he  had  imprisoned  many  a  fly.  These  mute 
evidences  of  his  idleness  seemed  to  be  as  solid  as  the  hills. 
Between  those  times  and  the  present,  the  wild  and  furi 
ous  perspective  of  war  lay  spread  out,  and  Gabriel  could 
imagine  that  the  idler  who  had  hacked  the  desk  belonged 
to  another  generation  altogether. 

He  went  to  the  blackboard,  found  a  piece  of  chalk, 
and  wrote  in  a  large,  bold  hand :  "  Rev.  Jeremiah  Tom- 
lin  will  lecture  here  to-night,  beginning  at  early  candle- 

light." 

The  Rev.  Jeremiah,  witnessing  the  performance,  had 
his  curiosity  aroused :  "  What  is  de  word  you  uv  writ, 
suh  ?  "  he  inquired,  and  when  Gabriel  had  read  it  off,  the 
negro  exclaimed,  "  Well,  suh !  You  put  all  dat  down, 
an'  it  didn't  take  you  no  time ;  no,  suh,  not  no  time. 
But  I  might  uv  speckted  it,  bekase  I  hear  lots  er 
talk  about  how  smart  you  is  on  all  sides — dey  all 


161 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Does  Tasma  Tid  belong  to  your  church?  "  Gabriel 
inquired  with  a  most  innocent  air. 

"  Do  which,  suh?  "  exclaimed  Rev.  Jeremiah,  paus 
ing  with  his  broom  suspended  in  the  air.  When  Gabriel 
repeated  his  inquiry,  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  drew  a  deep 
breath,  his  nostrils  dilated,  and  he  seemed  to  grow  sev 
eral  inches  taller.  "  No,  suh,  she  do  not ;  no,  suh,  she 
do  not  belong  ter  my  chu'ch.  You  kin  look  at  her,  suh, 
an'  see  de  mark  er  de  OP  Boy  on  her.  She  got  de  hoo 
doo  eye,  suh ;  an'  de  blue  gums  dat  go  long  wid  it,  an'  ef 
she  wuz  ter  jine  my  chu'ch,  she'd  be  de  only  member." 

It  was  very  clear  to  Gabriel  that  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  by  remaining,  so  he  bade  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  good 
bye,  and  went  toward  Shady  Dale.  When  he  was  well 
out  of  sight,  the  negro  approached  the  blackboard,  and, 
with  the  most  patient  curiosity,  examined  the  inscription 
or  announcement  that  Gabriel  had  written.  With  his 
forefinger,  he  traced  over  the  lines,  as  if  in  that  way  he 
might  absorb  the  knowledge  that  was  behind  the  writing. 
Then,  stepping  back  a  few  paces,  he  viewed  the  writing 
critically.  Finally  he  shook  his  head  doubtfully,  exclaim 
ing  aloud :  "  Dat's  whar  dey'll  git  us — yes,  suh,  dat's 
whar  dey  sho'  will  git  us." 

After  which,  he  carefully  closed  the  doors  of  the  school- 
house  and  followed  the  path  leading  to  Shady  Dale — 
the  path  that  Gabriel  had  taken.  The  Rev.  Jeremiah 
mumbled  as  he  walked  along,  giving  oral  utterance  to  his 
thoughts,  but  in  a  tone  too  low  to  reveal  their  import. 
He  had  taken  a  step  which  it  was  now  too  late  to  retrace. 
He  was  not  a  vicious  negro.  In  common  with  the  great 

f  162  1 


CAUGHT    IN    A    CORNER 

majority  of  his  race — in  common,  perhaps  with  the  men 
of  all  races — he  was  eaten  up  by  a  desire  to  become  promi 
nent,  to  make  himself  conspicuous.  Generations  of 
civilisation  (as  it  is  called)  have  gone  far  to  tone  down 
this  desire  in  the  whites,  and  they  manage  to  control 
it  to  some  extent,  though  now  and  then  we  see  it  crop 
out  in  individuals.  But  there  had  been  no  toning  down 
of  the  Rev.  Jeremiah's  egotism ;  on  the  contrary,  it  had 
been  fed  by  the  flattery  of  his  congregation  until  it  was 
gross  and  rank. 

It  was  natural,  therefore,  under  all  the  circumstances, 
that  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  should  become  the  willing  tool-f 
of  the  politicians  and  adventurers  who  had  accepted  the 
implied  invitation  of  the  radical  leaders  of  the  Republi 
can  Party  to  assist  in  the  spoliation  of  the  South.  The 
Rev.  Jeremiah,  once  he  had  been  patted  on  the  back, 
and  addressed  as  Mr.  Tomlin  by  a  white  man,  and  that 
man  a  representative  of  the  Government,  was  quite  ready 
to  believe  anything  he  was  told  by  his  new  friends,  and 
quite  as  ready  to  aid  them  in  carrying  out  any  scheme 
that  their  hatred  of  the  South  and  their  natural  rapacity 
could  suggest  or  invent. 

Therefore,  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  the  Rev.  Jere 
miah,  as  he  went  along  the  path,  mumbling  out  his 
thoughts,  was  expressing  any  doubt  of  the  wisdom  or 
expediency  of  the  part  he  was  expected  to  play  in  array 
ing  the  negroes  against  the  whites.  No ;  he  was  simply 
putting  together  as  many  sonorous  phrases  as  he  could 
remember,  and  storing  them  away  in  view  of  the  con 
tingency  that  he  would  be  called  on  to  address  those 

[   163  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

of  his  race  who  might  be  present  at  the  organisation  of 
the  Union  League.  He  had  been  very  busy  since  his  con 
ference  with  the  agent  of  the  Freedman's  Bureau,  and, 
in  one  way  and  another,  had  managed  to  convey  infor 
mation  of  the  proposed  meeting  to  quite  a  number  of  the 
negroes;  and  in  performing  this  service  he  was  careful 
that  a  maj  ority  of  those  notified  should  be  members  of  his 
church — negroes  with  whom  his  influence  was  all-power 
ful.  But  he  had  also  invited  Uncle  Plato,  Clopton's 
carriage-driver,  Wiley  Millirons,  and  Walthall's  Jake, 
three  of  the  worthiest  and  most  sensible  negroes  to  be 
found  anywhere. 

While  the  Rev.  Jeremiah,  full  of  his  own  importance, 
and  swelling  with  childish  vanity,  was  making  his  way 
toward  Neighbour  Tomlin's,  on  whose  lot  he  had  a  house, 
rent  free,  there  were  other  plotters  at  work.  In  addition 
to  Gabriel  Tolliver,  Nan  Dorrington  was  a  plotter  to  be 
reckoned  with,  especially  when  she  had  as  her  copartner 
Tasma  Tid,  who  was  as  cunning  as  some  wild  thing. 

When  the  day  was  far  spent,  or,  as  Mrs.  Absalom 
would  say,  "  along  to'rds  the  shank  of  the  evenin',"  Nan 
and  Tasma  Tid  went  wandering  out  of  town  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  school-house.  The  excuse  Nan  had  given 
at  home  was  that  she  wanted  to  see  Tasma  Tid's  hid 
ing-place.  As  they  passed  Tomlin's,  they  saw  the  Rev. 
Jeremiah  splitting  wood  for  his  wife,  who  was  the  cook. 
At  sight  of  Jeremiah,  Tasma  Tid  began  to  laugh,  and 
she  laughed  so  long  and  so  loud  that  the  parson  paused 
in  his  labours  and  looked  at  her.  He  took  off  his  hat 
and  bowed  to  Nan,  whereupon  Tasma  Tid  raised  her 


CAUGHT    IN    A    CORNER 

hand  above  her  head,  and  indulged  in  a  series  of  wild 
gesticulations,  which,  to  the  Rev.  Jeremiah,  were  very 
mysterious  and  puzzling.  He  shook  his  head  dubiously, 
and  mopped  his  face  with  a  large  red  handkerchief. 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  do  to  Jeremiah  ?  "  inquired 
Nan,  as  they  went  along. 

"  Him  fool  nigger.  We  make  him  dream  bad  dream," 
^responded  Tasma  Tid  curtly. 

The  two  were  in  no  hurry.  They  sauntered  along 
leisurely,  and,  although  the  sun  had  not  set,  by  the  time 
they  had  entered  the  woods  in  which  the  school-house 
stood,  the  deep  shadows  of  the  trees  gave  the  effect  of 
twilight  to  the  scene.  Tasma  Tid  led  Nan  to  the  old 
building,  and  told  her  to  wait  a  moment.  The  African 
crawled  under  the  house,  and  then  suddenly  reappeared 
at  the  back  door,  near  which  Nan  stood  waiting.  Tasma 
Tid  had  crawled  under  the  house,  and  lifted  a  loose  plank 
in  the  floor  of  the  closet,  making  her  entrance  in  that  way. 
The  front  door  was  locked  and  the  key  was  safe  in  the 
pocket  of  the  Rev.  Jeremiah,  but  the  back  door  was 
fastened  on  the  inside,  and  Tasma  Tid  had  no  trouble 
in  getting  it  open. 

It  is  fair  to  say  that  Nan  hesitated  before  entering. 
Some  instinct  or  presentiment  held  her  a  moment.  She 
was  not  afraid;  her  sense  of  fear  had  never  developed 
itself ;  it  was  one  of  the  attributes  of  human  nature  that 
was  foreign  to  her  experience;  and  this  was  why  some 
of  her  actions,  when  she  was  younger,  and  likewise  when 
she  was  older,  were  inexplicable  to  the  rest  of  her  sex, 
and  made  her  the  object  of  criticism  which  seemed  to  have 

[   165   ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

good  ground  to  go  upon.  Nan  hesitated  with  her  foot 
on  the  step,  but  it  was  not  her  way  to  draw  back,  and 
she  went  in.  Tasma  Tid  refastened  the  door  very  care 
fully,  and  then  turned  and  led  the  way  toward  the  closet. 
The  room  was  not  wholly  dark ;  one  or  two  of  the  shut 
ters  had  fallen  off,  and  in  this  way  a  little  light  filtered 
in.  Nan  followed  Tasma  Tid  to  the  closet,  the  door  of 
which  was  open. 

"  Dis-a  we  house,"  said  Tasma  Tid ;  "  dis-a  de  place 
wey  we  live  at." 

"  Why  did  you  come  here?  "  Nan  asked. 

"  We  had  no  nurrer  place ;  all-a  we  f  rien'  gone ;  da's 
why." 

What  further  comment  Nan  may  have  made  cannot 
even  be  guessed,  for  at  that  moment  there  was  a  noise  at 
one  of  the  windows;  some  one  was  trying  to  raise  the 
sash.  Nan  and  Tasma  Tid  held  their  breath  while  they 
listened,  and  then,  when  they  were  sure  that  some  one 
was  preparing  to  enter  the  building,  the  African  closed 
the  closet  door  noiselessly,  and  pulled  Nan  after  her  to  the 
narrowest  and  most  uncomfortable  part  of  the  musty  and 
dusty  place — the  space  next  the  stairway,  where  it  was 
so  low  that  they  were  compelled  to  sit  flat  on  the  floor. 

The  intruder,  whoever  he  might  be,  crawled  cautiously 
through  the  window — they  could  hear  the  buttons  of  his 
coat  strike  against  the  sill — and  leaped  lightly  to  the 
floor.  He  lowered  the  window  again,  and  then,  after 
tiptoeing  about  among  the  benches,  came  straight  to  the 
closet.  As  Tasma  Tid  had  not  taken  time  to  fasten  it 
on  the  inside,  the  door  was  easily  opened.  Dark  as  it  was, 

r  166 1 


CAUGHT    IN    A    CORNER 

Nan  and  the  African  could  see  that  the  intruder  was  a 
man,  but,  beyond  this,  they  could  distinguish  nothing. 
Nan  and  her  companion  would  have  breathed  freer  if 
recognition  had  been  possible,  for  the  new-comer  was 
Gabriel,  who  had  determined  to  take  this  method  of  dis 
covering  the  aim  and  object  of  the  Union  League. 

Once  in  the  closet,  Gabriel  took  pains  to  make  the 
inside  fastenings  secure.  It  was  one  of  the  whims  of  Mr. 
McManus,  the  school-master,  who  had  so  often  caused 
Gabriel's  head  and  the  blackboard  to  meet,  that  the  fas 
tenings  of  this  closet  should  be  upon  the  inside.  It  tickled 
his  humour  to  feel  that  a  refractory  boy  should  be  his 
own  jailer,  able,  and  yet  not  daring,  to  release  himself 
until  the  master  should  rap  sharply  on  the  door. 

Gabriel  was  less  familiar  with  these  fastenings  than 
he  had  formerly  been,  and  he  fumbled  about  in  the  dark 
for  some  moments  before  he  could  adjust  them  to  his  sat 
isfaction.  He  made  no  effort  to  explore  the  closet,  tak 
ing  for  granted  that  it  could  have  no  other  occupant. 
This  was  fortunate  for  Nan,  for  if  he  had  moved  about 
to  any  extent,  he  would  inevitably  have  stumbled  over  the 
African  and  her  young  mistress,  who  were  crouched  and 
huddled  as  far  under  the  stairway  as  they  could  get. 

Gabriel  stood  still  a  moment,  as  if  listening,  and  then 
he  sat  flat  on  the  floor,  and  stretched  out  his  legs  with  a 
sigh  of  relief.  After  that  there  was  a  long  period  of 
silence,  during  which  Nan  had  a  fine  opportunity  to  be 
very  sorry  that  she  had  ever  ventured  out  on  such  a 
fool's  errand.  "  If  I  get  out  of  this  scrape,"  she  thought 
over  and  over  again,  "  I'll  never  be  a  tomboy ;  I'll  never 

\  167  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

be  a  harum-scarum  girl  any  more."  She  had  no  physical 
fear,  but  she  realised  that  she  was  placed  in  a  very  awk 
ward  position. 

She  was  devoured  with  curiosity  to  know  whether  the 
intruder  really  was  Gabriel.  She  hoped  it  was,  and  the 
hope  caused  her  to  blush  in  the  dark.  She  knew  she 
was  blushing;  she  felt  her  ears  burn — for  what  would 
Gabriel  think  if  he  knew  that  she  was  crouching  on  the 
floor,  not  more  than  an  arm's  length  from  him?  Why, 
naturally,  he  would  have  no  respect  for  her.  How  could 
he?  she  asked  herself. 

As  for  Gabriel,  he  was  sublimely  unconscious  of  the 
fact  that  he  was  not  alone.  Once  or  twice  he  fancied  he 
heard  some  one  breathing,  but  he  was  a  lad  who  was  very 
close  to  nature,  and  he  knew  how  many  strange  and 
varied  sounds  rise  mysteriously  out  of  the  most  profound 
silence;  and  so,  instead  of  becoming  suspicious,  he  be 
came  drowsy.  He  made  himself  as  comfortable  as  he 
could,  and  leaned  against  the  wall,  pitting  his  patience 
against  the  loneliness  of  the  place  and  the  slow  passage 
of  time. 

Being  a  healthy  lad,  Gabriel  would  have  gone  to  sleep 
then  and  there,  but  for  a  mysterious  splutter  and  ex 
plosion,  so  to  speak,  which  went  off  right  at  his  elbow, 
as  he  supposed.  He  was  in  that  neutral  territory  be 
tween  sleeping  and  waking  and  he  was  unable  to  recog 
nise  the  sound  that  had  startled  him ;  and  it  would  have 
remained  a  mystery  but  for  the  fact  that  a  sneeze  is 
usually  accompanied  by  its  twin.  Nan  had  for  some 
time  felt  an  inclination  to  sneeze,  and  the  more  she  tried 

r  168 1 


CAUGHT    IN    A    CORNER 

to  resist  it  the  greater  the  inclination  grew,  until  finally, 
it  culminated  in  the  spluttering  explosion  that  had 
aroused  Gabriel.  This  was  followed  by  a  sneeze  which 
he  had  no  difficulty  in  recognising. 

The  fact  that  some  unknown  person  was  a  joint  oc 
cupant  of  the  closet  upset  him  so  little  that  he  was  sur 
prised  at  himself.  He  remained  perfectly  quiet  for 
awhile,  endeavouring  to  map  out  a  course  of  action,  little 
knowing  that  Nan  Dorrington  was  chewing  her  nails  with 
anger  a  few  feet  from  where  he  sat. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  finally.  He  spoke  in  a 
firm  low  tone. 

In  another  moment  Nan's  impulsiveness  would  have 
betrayed  her,  but  Tasma  Tid  came  to  her  rescue. 

"  Huccum  you  in  we  house?  Whaffer  you  come  dey? 
How  you  call  you'  name  ?  " 

"  Oh,  shucks!  Is  that  you,  Tiddy  Me  Tas?  " — this 
was  the  way  Gabriel  sometimes  twisted  her  name.  "  I 
thought  you  were  the  booger-man.  You'd  better  run 
along  home  to  your  Miss  Nan.  She  says  she  wants  to 
see  you.  What  are  you  hiding  out  here  for  any 
way?" 

"  We  no  hide,  Misser  Gable.  'Tis-a  we  house,  dis. 
Honey  Nan  no  want  we;  she  no  want  nobody.  She 
talkin'  by  dat  Misser  Frank  what  live-a  down  dey  at 
Clopton.  Dee  got  cake,  dee  got  wine,  dee  got  all  de 
bittle  dee  want." 

Tasma  Tid  told  this  whopper  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
Nan  was  giving  her  warning  nudges  and  pinches. 

"  Yes,  I  reckon  they  are  having  a  good  time,"  said 

f  169  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Gabriel  gloomily.  "  Miss  Nan  gave  me  an  invitation,  but 
I  couldn't  go."  It  was  something  new  in  Nan's  experi 
ence  to  hear  Gabriel  call  her  Miss  Nan,  and  she  rather 
relished  the  sensation  it  gave  her.  She  was  now  ready 
to  believe  that  she  was  really  and  truly  a  young  lady. 

"  Whaffer  you  ain't  gone  down  dey  ?  "  inquired  Tas- 
ma  Tid.  "  Ef  you  kin  come  dis-a  way,  you  kin  go  down 
dey." 

"  I  was  obliged  to  come  here,"  responded  Gabriel. 

"  Shoo !  dem  fib  roll  out  lak  dey  been  had  grease  on 
top  um,"  exclaimed  Tasma  Tid  derisively.  "  Who  been 
ax  you  f er  come  by  dis  way  ?  'Tis-a  we  house,  dis.  You 
better  go,  Misser  Gable;  go  by  dat  place  wey  Honey 
Nan  live,  an'  look  in  de  blin'  wcy  you  see  dat  Misser 
Frank,  and  dat  Misser  Paul  Tomlin,  an'  watch  um  how 
dee  kin  make  love.  Maybe  you  kin  fin'  out  how  fer  make 
love  you'se'f ." 

Gabriel  laughed  uneasily.  "  No,  Tiddy  Me  Tas — 
no  love-making  for  me.  I'm  either  too  old  or  too  young, 
I  forget  which." 

They  ceased  talking,  for  they  heard  footsteps  out 
side,  and  the  sound  of  voices.  Presently  some  one  opened 
the  door,  and  it  seemed  from  the  noise  that  was  made,  the 
shuffling  of  feet,  and  the  repressed  tones  of  conversa 
tion,  that  a  considerable  number  of  negroes  had  responded 
to  the  Rev.  Jeremiah's  invitation. 

The  first-comers  evidently  lit  a  candle,  for  a  phantom- 
like  shadow  of  light  trickled  through  a  small  crack  in 
the  closet  door,  and  a  faint,  but  unmistakable,  odour  of  a 
sulphur  match  reached  Gabriel's  nostrils.  There  were 

f  170  1 


CAUGHT    IN    A    CORNER 

whispered  consultations,  and  a  good  deal  of  muffled  and 
subdued  conversation,  but  every  word  that  was  distinctly 
enunciated  was  clearly  heard  in  the  sound-box  of  a  closet. 
But  suddenly  all  conversation  ceased,  and  complete  silence 
took  possession  of  those  present. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 


The   Union  League  Organises 

A  HE  silence  was  presently  broken  by  a  very  clear  and 
distinct  voice,  which  both  Nan  and  Gabriel  recognised 
as  that  of  the  stranger  whom  they  had  overheard  talking 
to  the  Rev.  Jeremiah. 

"  Before  we  proceed  to  the  business  that  has  called  us 
together,"  said  the  voice,  "  it  is  best  that  we  should  come 
to  some  clear  understanding.  I  am  not  here  in  my  own 
behalf.  I  have  nothing  to  lose  except  my  life,  and  noth 
ing  to  gain  but  the  betterment  of  those  who  have  been 
released  from  the  horrors  of  slavery.  Very  few  of  you 
know  even  my  name,  but  the  very  fact  that  I  am  here 
with  you  to-night  should  go  far  to  reassure  you.  It  is 
sufficient  to  say  that  I  represent  the  great  party  that  has 
given  you  your  freedom.  That  fact  constitutes  my 
credentials." 

"  Bless  God !  "  exclaimed  the  Rev.  Jeremiah,  piously. 
He  rolled  the  word  "  credentials  "  under  his  tongue,  and 
resolved  to  remember  it  and  bring  it  out  in  one  of  his 
sermons.  The  stranger  had  a  very  smooth  and  pleasing 
delivery.  There  was  a  sort  of  Sunday-school  cadence  to 
his  voice  well  calculated  to  impress  his  audience.  The 
language  he  employed  was  far  above  the  heads  of  those 

[  172  1 


THE  UNION  LEAGUE  ORGANISES 

to  whom  he  spoke,  but  his  persuasive  tone,  and  his  en 
gaging  manner  carried  conviction.  The  great  maj  ority 
of  the  negroes  present  were  ready  to  believe  what  he 
said  whether  they  understood  it  or  not. 

"  My  name,"  he  went  on,  "  is  Gilbert  Hotchkiss,  and  I 
belong  to  a  family  that  has  been  striving  for  more  than 
a  generation  to  bring  about  the  emancipation  of  the 
negroes.  My  father  worked  until  the  day  of  his  death  for 
the  abolition  of  slavery ;  and  now  that  slavery  has  been 
abolished,  I,  with  thousands  of  devoted  women  and  men 
whom  you  have  never  seen  and  doubtless  never  will  see, 
have  begun  the  work  of  uplifting  the  coloured  people  in 
order  that  they  may  be  placed  in  a  position  to  appreci 
ate  the  benefits  that  have  been  conferred  on  them,  and 
enable  them  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  freedom.  It  is  a 
great  work,  a  grand  work,  and  all  we  ask  is  the  active 
co-operation  and  assistance  of  the  coloured  people  them 
selves." 

These  were  the  words  of  Mr.  Hotchkiss,  the  philan 
thropist;  but  now  Mr.  Hotchkiss,  the  politician,  took 
his  place,  and  there  was  an  indefinable  change  in  the  tone 
of  his  voice. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  ask,"  he  said,  "  why  we  do  not, 
in  this  great  work  of  uplifting  the  coloured  race,  ask 
the  assistance  of  those  who  were  lately  in  rebellion  against 
the  best  and  the  greatest  Government  on  which  the  sun 
ever  shone.  It  would  be  foolish  and  unreasonable  to  ex 
pect  their  assistance.  They  fought  to  destroy  the  Union, 
and  they  were  defeated;  they  fought  to  perpetuate 
slavery,  and  they  failed.  More  than  that,  there  is  every 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

reason  to  believe  that  they  will  refuse  to  abide  by  the 
results  of  the  war.  They  are  very  quiet  now,  but  they 
are  merely  waiting  their  opportunity.  With  our  troops 
withdrawn,  and  with  the  Republican  Party  weakened  by 
opposition,  what  is  to  prevent  your  late  masters  from 
placing  you  back  in  slavery?  Could  we  expect  anything 
less  from  those  who  have  been  brought  up  to  believe  that 
slavery  is  a  divine  institution?  " 

"  You  hear  dat,  people?  "  cried  the  Rev.  Jeremiah. 

"  You  cannot  help  believing,"  continued  Mr.  Hotch- 
kiss,  "  that  your  former  masters  would  force  the  chains 
of  slavery  on  you  if  they  could ;  all  they  lack  is  the  op 
portunity  ;  and  if  you  are  not  careful,  they  will  find  an 
opportunity,  or  make  one.  Slavery  was  profitable  to 
them  once,  and  it  would  be  profitable  again.  There  is  one 
fact  you  should  never  forget,"  said  the  speaker,  warm 
ing  up  a  little.  "  It  is  a  most  stupendous  fact,  namely : 
that  every  dollar's  worth  of  property  in  all  this  Southern 
land  has  been  earned  by  the  labour  of  your  hands  and  by 
the  sweat  of  your  brows.  It  has  been  earned  by  you, 
not  once,  but  many  times  over.  You  have  earned  every 
dollar  that  has  ever  circulated  here.  The  lands,  the 
houses,  the  stock,  and  all  the  farm  improvements  are  a 
part  of  the  fruits  of  negro  labour ;  and  when  right  and 
justice  prevail,  this  property,  or  a  very  large  part  of  it, 
will  be  yours." 

This  statement  was  received  with  demonstrations  of 
approval,  one  of  the  audience  exclaiming :  "  You  sho' 
is  talkin'  now,  boss !  " 

"  But  how  are  right  and  justice  to  prevail?  Only  by 
[  174  1 


THE    UNION    LEAGUE    ORGANISES 

the  constant  and  continued  success  of  the  party  of  which 
the  martyred  Lincoln  was  the  leader.  The  mission  of 
that  party  has  not  yet  been  fulfilled.  First,  it  made  you 
freemen.  Then  it  went  a  step  further,  and  made  you 
citizens  and  voters.  Should  you  sustain  it  by  your  votes, 
it  will  take  still  another  step,  and  give  you  an  opportu 
nity  to  reap  some  of  the  fruits  of  your  toil,  as  well  as 
the  toil  of  the  unfortunates  who  pined  away  and  died 
or  who  were  starved  under  the  infamous  system  of 
slavery." 

"  Ain't  it  de  trufe ! "  exclaimed  the  Rev.  Jeremiah 
fervently. 

"  We  have  met  here  to-night  to  organise  a  Union 
League,"  continued  Mr.  Hotchkiss.  "  The  object  of  this 
league  is  to  bring  about  a  unity  of  purpose  and  action 
among  its  members,  to  give  them  opportunities  to  confer 
together,  and  to  secure  a  clear  understanding.  No  one 
knows  what  will  happen.  Your  former  masters  are 
j  ealous  of  your  rights ;  they  will  try  by  every  means  in 
their  power  to  take  these  rights  away  from  you.  They 
will  employ  both  force  and  fraud,  and  the  only  way  for 
you  to  meet  and  overcome  this  danger  is  to  organise. 
Ten  men  who  understand  one  another  and  act  together 
are  more  powerful  than  a  hundred  who  act  as  individ 
uals.  You  must  be  as  wise  as  serpents,  but  not  as  harm 
less  as  doves.  Your  rights  have  been  bought  for  you  by 
the  blood  of  thousands  of  martyrs,  and  you  must  de 
fend  them.  If  necessary  arm  yourselves.  Yea!  if  nec 
essary  apply  the  torch." 

There   was   a  certain   air  of   plausibility   about  this 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

harangue,  a  degree  of  earnestness,  that  impressed  Ga- 
i  briel,  and  he  does  not  know  to  this  day  whether  this  ill- 
l  informed  emissary  of  race  hatred  and  sectional  prejudice 
really  believed  all  that  he  said.  Who  shall  judge?  Cer 
tainly  not  those  who  remember  the  temper  of  those  times, 
the  revengeful  attitude  of  the  radical  leaders  at  the 
North,  and  the  distorted  fears  of  those  who  suddenly 
found  themselves  surrounded  by  a  horde  of  ignorant 
voters,  pliant  tools  in  the  hands  of  unscrupulous  carpet 
baggers. 

Hotchkiss  brought  his  remarks  to  a  close,  and  then 
proceeded  to  read  the  constitution  and  by-laws  of  the 
proposed  Union  League,  under  which,  he  explained,  hun 
dreds  of  leagues  had  been  organised.  Each  one  who  de 
sired  to  become  a  member  was  to  make  oath  separately 
and  individually  that  he  would  not  betray  the  secrets  of 
the  league,  nor  disclose  the  signs  and  pass-words,  nor 
tolerate  any  opposition  to  the  Republican  Party,  nor 
have  any  unnecessary  dealings  with  rebels  and  former 
slave-holders.  He  was  to  keep  eyes  and  ears  open,  and 
report  all  important  developments  to  the  league. 

"  We  are  now  ready,  I  presume,  for  the  ceremonies  to 
begin,"  remarked  Mr.  Hotchkiss.  "  First  we  will  elect 
officers  of  the  league,  and  I  suggest  that  the  Honourable 
Jeremiah  Tomlin  be  made  President." 

"  Dat's  right !  "  "  He  sho  is  de  man !  "  "  No  needs 
f  er  ter  put  dat  ter  de  question !  "  were  some  of  the  in 
dorsements  that  came  from  various  parts  of  the  room. 

The  Rev.  Jeremiah  was  immensely  tickled  by  the  title 
of  Honourable  that  had  been  so  unexpectedly  bestowed 

[  176  ] 


THE  UNION  LEAGUE  ORGANISES 

on  him.  He  hung  his  head  with  as  much  modesty  as  he 
could  summon,  and,  bearing  in  mind  his  calling,  one 
might  have  been  pardoned  for  suspecting  that  he  was 
offering  up  a  brief  prayer  of  thanksgiving.  He  rose 
in  his  place,  however,  passed  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
his  mouth,  paused  a  moment,  and  then  began : 

"  Mr.  Cheer,  I  thank  you  an'  deze  friends  might'ly  fer 
de  renomination  er  my  name,  an'  de  gener'l  endossments^ 
er  de  balance  er  deze  gentermen.  So  fur,  so  good.  But, 
Mr.  Cheer,  'fo'  we  gits  right  spang  down  ter  business, 
I  moves  dat  some  er  de  br'ers  be  ax'd  fer  ter  give  der 
idee  er  dis  plan  which  have  been  laid  befo'  us  by  our 
hon'bul  frien'.  I  moves  dot  we  hear  fum  Br'er  Plato 
Clopton,  ef  so  be  de  sperret  is  on  him  fer  ter  gi'  us 
his  sesso." 

Uncle  Plato,  taken  somewhat  by  surprise,  was  slow 
in  responding,  but  when  he  rose,  he  presented  a  striking 
figure.  He  was  taller  than  the  average  negro,  and  there 
was  a  simple  dignity — an  air  of  gentility  and  serene 
affability — in  his  attitude  and  bearing  that  attracted  the 
attention  of  Mr.  Hotchkiss.  The  Rev.  Jeremiah  was 
still  standing,  and  Uncle  Plato,  after  bowing  gracefully 
to  Mr.  Hotchkiss,  turned  with  a  smile  to  the  negro  who 
had  called  on  him. 

"  You  know  mighty  well,  Br'er  Jerry,  dat  I  ain't  sech 
a  talker  ez  ter  git  up  an'  say  my  say  des  dry  so,  an'  let 
it  go  at  dat.  Howsomever,  I  laid  off  ter  say  sump'n,  an' 
I  ain't  sorry  you  called  my  name.  In  what's  been  said 
dey's  a  heap  dat  I  'gree  wid.  I  b'lieve  dat  de  cullud  folks 
oughter  work  tergedder,  an'  stan  tergedder  fer  ter  he'p 

[  177  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

an'  be  helped.  But  when  you  call  on  me  fer  ter  turn 
my  back  on  my  marster,  an'  go  to  hatin'  'im,  you'll  hat 
ter  skuzen  me.  You  sho  will." 

"  He  ain't  yo'  marster  now,  Br'er  Plato,  an'  you 
know  it,"  said  the  Rev.  Jeremiah. 

"  I  know  dat  mighty  well,"  replied  Uncle  Plato,  "  but 
ef  it  don't  hurt  my  f eelin's  fer  ter  call  him  dat  it  oughtn't 
ter  pester  yuther  people.  How  it  may  be  wid  you  all, 
I  dunno;  but  me  an'  my  marster  wus  boys  tergedder. 
We  useter  play  wid  one  an'er,  an'  fall  out  an'  fight,  an' 
I've  whipped  him  des  ez  many  times  ez  he  ever  whipped 
me — an'  he'll  tell  you  de  same." 

"  But  all  this,"  suggested  Mr.  Hotchkiss  coldly,  "  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  in  hand.  The  coloured 
race  is  facing  conditions  that  amount  to  a  crisis — a  crisis 
that  has  no  parallel  in  the  world's  history." 

"  Dat  is  suttinly  so!  "  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  ejaculated, 
though  he  had  but  a  dim  notion  of  what  Hotchkiss  was 
talking  about. 

"  They  have  been  made  citizens,"  pursued  the  or 
ganiser,  "  and  it  is  their  duty  to  demand  all  their  rights 
and  to  be  satisfied  with  nothing  less.  The  best  men  of 
our  party  believe  that  the  rebels  are  still  rebellious,  and 
that  they  will  seize  the  first  opportunity  to  re-enslave  the 
coloured  people." 

"  Ah-yi !  "  exclaimed  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  triumphantly. 

"  Does  you  reely  b'lieve,  Br'er  Jerry,  dat  Pulaski  Tom- 
lin  will  ever  try  ter  put  you  back  in  slav'ry  ?  "  asked 
Uncle  Plato. 

The  inquiry  was  a  poser,  and  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  was 
f  178  | 


THE  UNION  LEAGUE  ORGANISES 

unable  to  make  any  satisfactory  reply.  Perceiving  this, 
Mr.  Hotchkiss  came  to  the  rescue.  "  You  must  bear  in 
mind,"  he  blandly  remarked,  "  that  this  is  not  a  ques 
tion  of  one  person  here  and  another  person  there.  It 
concerns  a  whole  race.  Should  all  the  former  slave 
owners  of  the  South  succeed  in  reclaiming  their  slaves, 
Mr.  Tomlin  and  Mr.  Clopton  would  be  compelled  by  pub 
lic  sentiment  to  reclaim  theirs.  If  they  refused  to  do  so, 
their  former  slaves  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  new  mas 
ters.  It  is  not  a  question  of  individuals  at  all." 

"  Well,  suh,  we'll  fin'  out  atter  awhile  dat  we'll  hat 
ter  do  like  de  white  folks.  Eve'y  tub'll  hatter  stan'  on 
its  own  bottom.  I'm  des  ez  free  now  ez  I  wuz  twenty, 
year  ago " 

"  I  can  well  believe  that,  after  what  you  have  said," 
Mr.  Hotchkiss  interrupted. 

The  tone  of  his  voice  was  as  smooth  as  velvet,  but  his 
words  carried  the  sting  of  an  imputation,  and  Uncle 
Plato  felt  it  and  resented  it.  "  Yes,  suh, — an'  I  wuz 
des  ez  free  twenty  year  ago  ez  you  all  will  ever  be.  My 
marster  has  been  good  ter  me  fum  de  work  go.  I  ain't 
stay  in'  wid  'im  bekaze  he  got  money.  Ef  him  an'  Miss 
Sa'ah  di'n'a  have  a  dollar  in  de  worl',  an  no  way  ter-f 
git  it,  I'd  work  my  arms  off  fer  'm.  An'  ef  I  'fused  ter 
do  it,  my  wife  'd  quit  me,  an'  my  chillun  wouldn't  look 
at  me.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do :  when  my  marster 
tu'ns  his  back  on  me  I'll  tu'n  my  back  on  him." 

"  I'm  really  sorry  that  you  persist  in  making  this  ques 
tion  a  personal  one  when  it  affects  all  the  negroes  now 
living  and  millions  yet  to  be  born,"  said  Mr.  Hotchkiss. 

f   179  1 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

"  Well,  suh,  Ic's  look  at  it  dat  away,"  Uncle  Plato  in 
sisted.  "  Spoz'n  you  ban'  tergedder  like  dis,  an'  try 
ter  tu'n  de  white  folks  ag'in  you,  an'  dey  see  what  you 
up  ter,  an'  tu'n  der  backs,  den  what  you  gwine  ter  do? 
You  got  ter  live  here  an'  you  got  ter  make  yo'  livin' 
here.  Is  you  gwine  ter  cripple  de  cow  dat  gives  de 
cream?  " 

Uncle  Plato  paused  and  looked  around.  He  saw  at 
once  that  he  was  in  a  hopeless  minority,  and  so  he 
reached  for  his  hat.  "  I'm  mighty  glad  ter  know  you, 
suh,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Hotchkiss,  with  a  bow  that  Chester 
field  might  have  envied,  "  but  I'll  hatter  bid  you  good 
night."  With  that,  he  went  out,  followed  by  Wiley 
Millirons  and  Walthall's  Jake,  much  to  the  relief  of  the 
Rev.  Jeremiah,  who  proceeded  to  denounce  "  white  folks' 
niggers,"  and  to  utter  some  very  violent  threats. 

Then,  in  no  long  time,  the  Union  League  was  organ 
ised.  Those  in  the  closet  failed  to  hear  the  words  that 
constituted  the  ceremony  of  initiation.  Only  low  mut- 
terings  came  to  their  ears.  But  the  ceremony  consisted 
of  a  lot  of  mummery  well  calculated  to  impress  the  sim 
ple-minded  negroes.  After  a  time  the  meeting  ad 
journed,  the  solitary  candle  was  blown  out,  and  the  last 
negro  departed. 

Gabriel  waited  until  all  sounds  had  died  away,  and 
then,  with  a  brief  good-night  to  Tasma  Tid,  he  opened 
the  closet  door,  slipped  out,  and  was  soon  on  his  way 
home.  But  before  he  was  out  of  the  dark  grove,  some 
one  went  flitting  by  him — in  fact,  he  thought  he  saw 
two  figures  dimly  outlined  in  the  darknecs;  yet  he  was 

j  180  J 


THE  UNION  LEAGUE  ORGANISES 

not  sure — and  presently  he  thought  he  heard  a  mocking 
laugh,  which  sounded  very  much  as  if  it  had  issued  from 
the  lips  of  Nan  Dorrington.  But  he  was  not  sure  that 
he  heard  the  laugh,  and  how,  he  asked  himself,  could 
he  imagine  that  it  was  Nan  Dorrington's  even  if  he  had 
heard  it?  He  told  himself  confidentially,  the  news  to  go 
no  further,  that  he  was  a  drivelling  idiot. 

As  Gabriel  went  along  he  soon  forgot  his  momentary 
impressions  as  to  the  two  figures  in  the  dark  and  the  laugh 
that  had  seemed  to  come  floating  back  to  him.  The 
suave  and  well-modulated  voice  of  Mr.  Hotchkiss  rang 
in  his  ears.  He  had  but  one  fault  to  find  with  the  de 
livery:  Mr.  Hotchkiss  dwelt  on  his  r's  until  they  were 
as  long  as  a  fishing-pole,  and  as  sharp  as  a  shoemaker's 
awl.  Though  these  magnified  r's  made  Gabriel's  flesh 
crawl,  he  had  been  very  much  impressed  by  the  address, 
only  part  of  which  has  been  reported  here.  Boylike, 
he  never  paused  to  consider  the  motives  or  the  ulterior 
purpose  of  the  speaker.  Gabriel  knew  of  course  that 
there  was  no  intention  on  the  part  of  the  whites  to  re- 
enslave  the  negroes;  he  knew  that  there  was  not  even 
a  desire  to  do  so.  He  knew,  too,  that  there  were  many 
incendiary  hints  in  the  address — hints  that  were  illumi 
nated  and  emphasised  more  by  the  inflections  of  the 
speaker's  voice  than  by  the  words  in  which  they  were 
conveyed.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  resented  these 
hints  as  keenly  as  possible,  he  could  see  the  plausibility 
of  the  speaker's  argument  in  so  far  as  it  appealed  to  the 
childish  fears  and  doubts  and  uneasiness  of  the  negroes. 
If  anything  could  be  depended  on,  he  thought,  to  pro- 

[  j 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

mote  a  spirit  of  incendiarism  among  the  negroes  such  an 
address  would  be  that  thing. 

If  Gabriel  had  attended  some  of  the  later  meetings  of 
the  league,  he  would  have  discovered  that  the  address  he 
had  heard  was  a  milk-and-water  affair,  compared  with 
some  of  the  harangues  that  were  made  to  the  negroes  in 
the  old  school-house. 

All  that  Gabriel  had  heard  was  duly  reported  to  Meri- 
wether  Clopton,  and  to  Mr.  Sanders,  and  in  a  very  short 
time  all  the  whites  in  the  community  became  aware  of 
the  fact  that  the  negroes  were  taking  lessons  in  race 
hatred  and  incendiarism,  and  as  a  natural  result,  Hotch- 
kiss  became  a  marked  man.  His  comings  and  goings  were 
all  noted,  so  much  so  that  he  soon  found  it  convenient  as 
well  as  comfortable  to  make  his  head-quarters  in  the  coun 
try,  at  the  home  of  Judge  Mahlon  Butts,  whose  Union 
principles  had  carried  him  into  the  Republican  Party. 
The  Judge  lived  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  corporation 
line,  and  Mr.  Hotchkiss's  explanation  for  moving  there 
was  that  the  exercise  to  be  found  in  walking  back  and 
forth  was  necessary  to  his  health. 

Uncle  Plato  was  very  much  surprised  the  next  day  to 
be  called  into  the  house  where  Mr.  Sanders  was  sitting 
with  Meriwether  Clopton  and  Miss  Sarah  in  order  that 
they  might  shake  hands  with  him. 

"  I  want  to  shake  your  hand,  Plato,"  said  his  old 
master.  "  I've  always  thought  a  great  deal  of  you,  but 
I  think  more  of  you  to-day  than  ever  before." 

"  And  you  must  shake  hands  with  me,  Plato,"  re 
marked  Sarah  Clopton. 


THE  UNION  LEAGUE  ORGANISES 

"  Well,  sence  shakin'  han's  is  comin'  more  into  fashion 
these  days,  I  reckon  you'll  have  to  shake  wi'  me,"  de 
clared  Mr.  Sanders. 

"  I  declar'  ter  gracious  I  dunner  whedder  you  all  is 
makin'  fun  er  me  or  not !  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Plato.  "  But 
sump'n  sholy  must  'a'  happened,  kaze  des  now  when  I 
wuz  downtown  Mr.  Alford  call  me  in  his  sto'  an'  'low, 
'  Plato,  when  you  wanter  buy  anything,  des  come  right 
in,  money  er  no  money,  kaze  yo'  credit  des  ez  good  in 
here  ez  de  best  man  in  town.'  I  dunner  what  done  come 
over  eve'ybody."  He  went  away  laughing. 

Nevertheless,  Uncle  Plato  was  more  seriously  affected 
by  the  schemes  of  Mr.  Hotchkiss  than  any  other  inhabi 
tant  of  Shady  Dale.  He  had  been  a  leader  in  the  Rev. 
Jeremiah's  church,  and  up  to  the  day  of  the  organisa 
tion  of  the  Union  League,  had  wielded  an  influence 
among  the  negroes  second  only  to  that  of  the  Rev.  Jere 
miah  himself.  But  now  all  was  changed.  He  soon  found 
that  he  would  have  to  resign  his  deaconship,  for  those 
whom  he  had  regarded  as  his  spiritual  brethren  were  now 
his  enemies — at  any  rate  they  were  no  longer  his  friends. 

But  Uncle  Plato  had  one  consolation  in  his  troubles, 
and  that  was  the  strong  indorsement  and  support  of 
Aunt  Charity,  his  wife,  who  was  the  cook  at  Clopton's, 
famous  from  one  end  of  the  State  to  the  other  for  her 
biscuits  and  waffles.  Uncle  Plato  had  been  somewhat 
dubious  about  her  attitude,  for  the  negro  women  had  de 
veloped  the  most  intense  partisanship,  and  some  of  them 
were  loud  in  their  threats,  going  much  further  than  the 
men.  No  doubt  Aunt  Charity  would  have  taken  a  differ- 

[  183  1 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

ent  course  had  she  been  in  her  husband's  place,  if  only 
for  the  sake  of  her  colour,  as  she  called  her  race.  She 
was  very  fond  of  her  own  white  folks,  but  she  had  her 
prejudices  against  the  rest. 

When  Uncle  Plato  reached  home  and  told  his  wife 
what  he  had  said  and  done,  she  drew  a  long  breath  and 
looked  at  him  hard  for  some  time.  Then  she  took  up 
her  pipe  from  the  chimney-corner,  remarking,  "  Well, 
what  you  done,  you  done;  dar's  yo'  supper." 

Uncle  Plato  had  a  remarkably  good  appetite,  and 
while  he  ate,  Aunt  Charity  sat  near  a  window  and  looked 
out  at  the  stars.  She  was  getting  together  in  her  mind 
a  supply  of  personal  reminiscences,  of  which  she  had 
a  goodly  store.  Presently,  she  began  to  shake  with 
laughter,  which  she  tried  to  suppress.  Uncle  Plato  mis 
took  the  sound  he  heard  for  an  evidence  of  grief,  and 
he  spoke  up  promptly : 

"  I  declar'  ef  I'd  'a'  know'd  I  wuz  gwine  ter  hurt  yo' 
feelings,  I'd  'a'  j'ined  in  wid  um  den  an'  dar.  An'  'taint 
too  late  yit.  I  kin  go  ter  Br'er 'Jerry  an'  tell  him  whilst 
I  ain't  change  my  own  min'  I'll  j'ine  in  wid  um  druthcr 
dan  be  offish  an'  mule-headed." 

"  No  you  won't  !  no  you  won't !  no  you  won't !  "  ex 
claimed  Aunt  Charity.  "  I  mought  'a'  done  diffunt,  an' 
I  mought  'a'  done  wrong.  We'll  hatter  git  out'n  dc 
church,  ef  you  kin  call  it  a  church,  but  dat  ain't  so 
mighty  hard  ter  do.  Yit,  'fo'  we  does  git  out  I'm  gwine 
ter  preach  ol'  Jerry's  funer'l  one  time — des  one  time. 
Dat  what  make  me  laugh  des  now;  I  was  runnin'  over 
in  my  min'  how  I  kin  raise  his  hide.  Some  folks  got  de 

[    18*   1 


THE  UNION  LEAGUE  ORGANISES 

idee  dat  kaze  I'm  fat  I'm  bleezc  ter  be  long-suff erin' ; 
but  you  know  better'n  dat,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  know  dis,"  said  Uncle  Plato,  wiping  his 
mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  "  when  you  git  yo' 
dander  up  you  kin  talk  loud  an'  long." 

"  Miss  Sa'ah  done  tol'  me  dat  when  I  git  mad,  I  kin 
keep  up  a  conversation  ez  long  ez  de  nex'  one,"  re 
marked  Aunt  Charity,  with  real  pride.  "  An'  den  dar's 
dat  hat  Miss  Sa'ah  gi'  me;  I  laid  off  ter  w'ar  it  ter 
church  nex'  Sunday,  but  now — well,  I  speck  I  better  des 
w'ar  my  head-hankcher,  kaze  dey's  sho  gwine  ter  be 
trouble  ef  any  un  urn  look  at  me  cross-eyed." 

"  You  gwine,  is  you?  "  Uncle  Plato  asked. 

"  Ef  I  live,"  replied  Aunt  Charity,  "  I'm  des  ez  good 
ez  dar  right  now.  An'  mo'  dan  dat,  you'll  go  too. 
'Tain't  gwineter  be  said  dat  de  Clopton  niggers  hung 
der  heads  bekaze  dey  stood  by  der  own  white  folks.  Ef 
it's  said,  it'll  hatter  be  said  'bout  some  er  de  yuthers." 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Uncle  Plato,  "  but  I  hope  I  won't  hat 
ter  frail  Br'er  Jerry  out." 

"  Now,  dat's  right  whar  we  gits  crossways,"  Aunt 
Charity  declared.  "  I  hope  you'll  hatter  frail  'im  out." 

Fortunately,  Uncle  Plato  had  no  excuse  for  using  his 
walking-cane  on  the  Rev.  Jeremiah,  when  Sunday  came. 
None  of  the  church-members  made  any  active  show  of 
animosity.  They  simply  held  themselves  aloof.  Aunt 
Charity  had  her.  innings,  however.  When  services  were 
over,  and  the  congregation  was  slowly  filing  out  of  the 
building,  followed  by  the  Rev.  Jeremiah,  she  remarked 
loud  enough  for  all  to  hear  her : 

f   185   1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Br'er  Jerry,  de  nex'  time  you  want  me  ter  cook  pul 
lets  fer  dat  ar  Lizzie  Gaither,  des  fetch  um  'long.  I'll 
be  glad  ter  'blige  you." 

As  the  Rev.  Jeremiah's  wife  was  close  at  hand,  the 
closing  scenes  can  be  better  imagined  than  described.  In 
this  chronicle  the  veil  of  silence  must  be  thrown  over 
them. 

It  may  be  said,  nevertheless,  that  Uncle  Plato  and  his 
wife  felt  very  keenly  the  awkward  position  in  which  they 
were  placed  by  the  increasing  prejudice  of  the  rest  of 
the  negroes.  They  were  both  sociable  in  their  natures, 
but  now  they  were  practically  cut  off  from  all  associa 
tion  with  those  who  had  been  their  very  good  friends.  It 
was  a  real  sacrifice  they  had  to  make.  On  the  other 
hand,  who  shall  say  that  their  firmness  in  this  matter  was 
not  the  means  of  preventing,  at  least  in  Shady  Dale, 
many  of  the  misfortunes  that  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  negroes 
elsewhere?  There  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that  their  atti 
tude,  firm  and  yet  modest,  had  a  restraining  influence 
on  some  of  the  more  reckless  negroes,  who,  under  the 
earnest  but  dangerous  teachings  of  Hotchkiss  and  his 
fellow-workers,  would  otherwise  have  been  led  into  ex 
cesses  which  would  have  called  for  bloody  reprisals. 


186 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 


Nan  and  Her   Young  Lady  Friends 

N  DORRINGTON  found  a  pretty  howdy-do  at  her 
house  when  she  reached  home  the  night  the  Union  League 
was  organised.  The  members  of  the  household  were  all 
panic-stricken  when  the  hours  passed  and  Nan  failed  to 
return.  Ordinarily,  there  would  have  been  no  alarm 
whatever,  but  a  little  after  dark,  Eugenia  Claiborne,  ac 
companied  by  a  little  negro  girl,  came  to  Dorrington's 
to  find  out  why  Nan  had  failed  to  keep  her  engagement. 
She  had  promised  to  take  supper  with  Eugenia,  and  to 
spend  the  night. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Nan  was  on  her  way  to 
present  her  excuses  to  Eugenia  when  the  spectacle  of 
Mr.  Sanders,  tipsy  and  talkative,  had  attracted  her  atten 
tion.  She  thought  no  more  of  her  engagement,  and  for 
the  time  being  Eugenia  was  to  Nan  as  if  she  had  never 
existed.  Meanwhile,  the  members  of  the  Dorrington 
household,  if  they  thought  of  Nan  at  all,  concluded  that 
she  had  gone  to  the  Gaither  Place,  where  Eugenia  lived. 
But  when  Miss  Claiborne  came  seeking  her,  why  that 
put  another  face  on  affairs.  Eugenia  decided  to  wait 
for  her ;  but  when  the  long  minutes,  and  the  half  hours 
and  the  hours  passed,  and  Nan  failed  to  make  "her  appear- 

[   187  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

ance,  Mrs.  Absalom  began  to  grow  nervous,  and  Mrs. 
Dorrington  went  from  room  to  room  with  a  very  long 
face.  She  could  have  made  a  very  shrewd  guess  as  to 
Nan's  whereabouts,  but  she  didn't  dare  to  admit,  even 
to  herself,  that  the  girl  had  been  so  indiscreet  as  to  go 
in  person  to  the  rescue  of  Gabriel. 

They  waited  and  waited,  until  at  last  Mrs.  Dorring 
ton  suggested  that  something  should  be  done.  "  I  don't 
know  what,"  she  said,  "  but  something ;  that  would  be 
better  than  sitting  here  waiting." 

Mrs.  Absalom  insisted  on  keeping  up  an  air  of  brava 
do.  "  The  child's  safe  wherever  she  is.  She's  been  a 
rippittin'  'round  all  day  tryin'  to  git  old  Billy  Sanders 
sober,  an'  more'n  likely  she's  sot  down  some'rs  an'  fell 
asleep.  Ef  folks  could  sleep  off  the'r  sins,  Nan'd  be 
a  saint." 

"  But  wherever  she  is,  she  isn't  here,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Dorrington,  tearfully ;  "  and  here  is  where  she  should 
be.  I  wonder  what  her  father  will  say  wrhen  he  comes?  " 
Dr.  Dorrington  had  gone  to  visit  a  patient  in  the  coun- 
try. 

"  Perhaps  she  went  with  him,"  Eugenia  suggested. 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Absalom.  "  Ridin'  in 
a  gig  is  too  much  like  work  for  Nan  to  be  fond  of  it. 
No;  she's  some'rs  she's  got  no  business,  an'  ef  I  could 
lay  my  hand  on  her,  I'd  jerk  her  home  so  quick,  her 
head  would  swim  worse  than  old  Billy  Sandcrs's  does 
when  he's  full  up  to  the  chin." 

After  awhile,  Eugenia  said  she  had  waited  long 
enough,  but  Mrs.  Dorrington  looked  at  her  with  such 

[   188   ] 


NAN    AND    HER    FRIENDS 

imploring  eyes  that  she  hesitated.  "  If  you  go,"  said 
the  lady,  "  I  will  feel  that  Nan  is  not  coming,  but  as  long 
as  you  stay,  I  have  hope  that  she  will  run  in  any  moment. 
She  is  with  that  Tasma  Tid,  and  I  think  it  is  terrible 
that  we  can't  get  rid  of  that  negro.  I  have  never  been 
able  to  like  negroes." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  be  too  hard  on  the  niggers,"  de 
clared  Mrs.  Absalom.  "  Everything  they  know,  every 
thing  they  do,  everything  they  say — everything — they  J^ 
have  larnt  from  the  white  folks.  Study  a  nigger  right 
close,  an'  you'll  ketch  a  glimpse  of  how  white  folks  would 
look  an'  do  wi'out  the'r  trimmin's." 

"  Oh,  perhaps  so,"  assented  Mrs.  Dorrington,  with 
a  little  shrug  of  the  shoulders  which  said  a  good  deal 
plainer  than  words,  "  You  couldn't  make  me  believe  that." 

Just  as  Dr.  Dorrington  drove  up,  and  just  as  Mrs. 
Absalom  was  about  to  get  her  bonnet,  for  the  purpose, 
as  she  said,  of  "  scouring  the  town,"  Nan  came  running 
in  out  of  breath.  "  Oh,  such  a  time  as  I've  had !  "  she  ex 
claimed.  "  You'll  not  be  angry  with  me,  Eugenia,  when 
you  hear  all!  Talk  of  adventures!  Well,  I  have  had 
one  at  last,  after  waiting  all  these  years!  Don't  scold 
me,  Nonny,  until  you  know  where  I've  been  and  what 
I've  done.  And  poor  Johnny  has  been  crying,  and  hav 
ing  all  sorts  of  wild  thoughts  about  poor  me.  Don't  go, 
Eugenia;  I  am  going  with  you  in  a  moment — just  as 
soon  as  I  can  gather  my  wits  about  me.  I  am  perfectly 
wild." 

"  Tell  us  something  new,"  said  Mrs.  Absalom  drily. 
"  Here  we've  been  on  pins  and  needles,  thinkin'  maybe 

f   189  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

some  of  your  John  A.  Murrells  had  rushed  into  town  an' 
kidnapped  you,  an'  all  the  time  you  an'  that  slink  of  a 
nigger  have  been  gallivantin'  over  the  face  of  the  yeth. 
I  declare  ef  Randolph  don't  do  somethin'  wi'  you  they 
ain't  no  tellin'  what'll  become  of  you." 

But  Dr.  Dorrington  was  not  in  the  humour  for  scold 
ing;  he  rarely  ever  was;  but  on  that  particular  night 
less  so  than  ever.  For  one  brief  moment,  Nan  thought 
he  was  too  angry  to  scold,  and  this  she  dreaded  worse  than 
any  outbreak;  for  when  he  was  silent  over  some  of  her 
capers  she  took  it  for  granted  that  his  feelings  were 
hurt,  and  this  thought  was  sufficient  to  give  her  more 
misery  than  anything  else.  But  she  soon  discovered  that 
his  gravity,  which  was  unusual,  had  its  origin  elsewhere. 
She  saw  him  take  a  tiny  tin  waggon,  all  painted  red,  from 
his  pocket  and  place  it  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  both  she 
and  Mrs.  Dorrington  went  to  him. 

"  Oh,  popsy !  I'm  so  sorry  about  everything !  He 
didn't  need  it,  did  he?" 

"  No,  the  little  fellow  has  no 'more  use  for  toys.  He 
sent  you  his  love,  Nan.  He  was  talking  about  you  with 
his  last  breath ;  he  remembered  everything  you  said  and 
did  when  you  went  with  me  to  see  him.  He  said  you 
must  be  good." 

Now,  if  Nan  was  a  heroine,  or  anything  like  one,  it 
would  never  do  to  say  that  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  wept  a  little  when  she  heard  of  the  death  of  the  lit 
tle  boy  who  had  been  her  father's  patient  for  many 
months.  In  the  present  state  of  literary  criticism,  one 
must  be  very  careful  not  to  permit  women  and  children 


NAN    AND    HER    FRIENDS 

to  display  their  sensitive  and  tender  natures.  Only  the 
other  day,  a  very  good  book  was  damned  because  one  of 
the  female  characters  had  wept  393  times  during  the 
course  of  the  story.  Out  upon  tears  and  human  nature ! 
Let  us  go  out  and  reform  some  one,  and  leave  tears  to 
the  kindergarten,  where  steps  are  taking  even  now  to 
dry  up  the  fountains  of  youth. 

Nevertheless,  Nan  cried  a  little,  and  so  did  Eugenia 
Claiborne.  when  she  heard  the  story  of  the  little  boy 
who  had  suffered  so  long  and  so  patiently.  The  news 
of  his  death  tended  to  quiet  Nan's  excitement,  but  she 
told  her  story,  and,  though  the  child's  death  took  the 
edge  off  Nan's  excitement,  the  story  of  her  adventure 
attracted  as  much  attention  as  she  thought  it  would. 
She  said  nothing  about  Gabriel,  and  it  was  supposed 
that  only  she  and  Tasma  Tid  were  in  the  closet ;  but  the 
next  morning,  when  Dr.  Dorrington  drove  over  to  Clop- 
ton's  to  carry  the  information,  he  was  met  by  the  state 
ment  that  Gabriel  had  told  of  it  the  night  before.  A 
little  inquiry  developed  the  fact  that  Gabriel  had  con 
cealed  himself  in  the  closet  in  order  to  discover  the  mys 
teries  of  the  Union  League. 

Dorrington  decided  that  the  matter  was  either  very 
serious  or  very  amusing,  and  he  took  occasion  to  question 
Nan  about  it.  "  You  didn't  tell  us  that  Gabriel  was  in 
the  closet  with  you,"  he  said  to  Nan. 

"  Well,  popsy,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned  he  was  not 
there.  He  certainly  has  no  idea  that  I  was  there,  and 
if  he  ever  finds  it  out,  I'll  never  speak  to  him  again.  He 
never  will  find  it  out  unless  he  is  told  by  some  one  who 

f  191  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

dislikes  me.  Outside  of  this  family,"  Nan  went  on  with 
dignity,  "  not  a  soul  knows  that  I  was  there  except  Eu 
genia  Claiborne,  and  I'm  perfectly  certain  she'll  never 
tell  any  one." 

Dorrington  thought  his  daughter  should  have  a  little 
lecture,  and  he  gave  her  one,  but  not  of  the  conventional 
kind.  He  simply  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her,  say 
ing,  "  My  precious  child,  you  must  never  forget  the 
message  the  little  boy  sent  you.  About  the  last  thing 
he  said  was,  '  Tell  my  Miss  Nan  to  be  dood.'  "  And  you 
know,  my  dear,  that  it  is  neither  proper  nor  good  for 
my  little  girl  to  be  wandering  about  at  night.  She  is 
now  a  young  lady,  and  she  must  begin  to  act  like  one 
— not  too  much,  you  know,  but  just  enough  to  be 
good." 

Now,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  this  kind  of  talk,  ac 
companied  by  a  smile  of  affection,  went  a  good  deal 
farther  with  Nan  than  the  most  tremendous  scolding 
would  have  gone.  It  touched  her  where  she  was  weakest 
— or,  if  you  please,  strongest — an  her  affections,  and  she 
vowed  to  herself  that  she  would  put  off  her  hoyden  ways, 
and  become  a  demure  young  lady,  or  at  least  play  the 
part  to  the  best  of  her  ability. 

Eugenia  Claiborne  declared  that  Nan  had  acted  more 
demurely  in  the  closet  than  she  could  have  done,  if,  in 
stead  of  Gabriel,  Paul  Tomlin  had  come  spying  on  the 
radicals  where  she  was.  "  I  don't  sec  how  you  could 
help  saying  something.  If  I  had  been  in  your  place,  and 
Paul  had  come  in  there,  I  should  certainly  have  said 
something  to  him,  if  only  to  let  him  know  that  I  was  as 

[  192  ] 


NAN    AND    HER    FRIENDS 

patriotic  as  he  was."  Miss  Eugenia  had  grand  ideas 
about  patriotism. 

"  Oh,  if  it  had  been  Paul  instead  of  Gabriel  I  would 
have  made  myself  known,"  said  Nan ;  "  but  Ga 
briel " 

"  I  don't  see  what  the  difference  is  when  it  comes  to 
making  yourself  known  to  any  one  in  the  dark,  espe 
cially  to  a  friend,"  remarked  Eugenia.  "  For  my  part, 
horses  couldn't  have  dragged  me  in  that  awful  place. 
I'm  sure  you  must  be  very  brave,  to  make  up  your  mind 
to  go  there.  Weren't  you  frightened  to  death?  " 

"  Why  there  was  nothing  to  frighten  any  one,"  said 
Nan ;  "  not  even  rats." 

"  Ooh !  "  cried  Eugenia  with  a  shiver.  "  Why  of 
course  there  were  rats  in  that  dark,  still  place.  I  wouldn't 
go  in  there  in  broad  daylight." 

This  conversation  occurred  while  Nan  was  visiting 
Eugenia,  and  in  the  course  thereof,  Nan  was  given  to 
understand  that  her  friend  thought  a  good  deal  of  Paul 
Tomlin.  As  soon  as  Nan  grasped  the  idea  that  Eugenia 
was  trying  to  convey — there  never  was  a  girl  more  ob 
tuse  in  love-matters — she  became  profuse  in  her  praises 
of  Paul,  who  was  really  a  very  clever  young  man.  As 
Mrs.  Absalom  had  said,  it  was  not  likely  that  he  would 
ever  be  brilliant  enough  to  set  the  creek  on  fire,  but  he 
was  a  very  agreeable  lad,  entirely  unlike  Silas  Tomlin, 
his  father. 

If  Eugenia  thought  that  Nan  would  exchange  con 
fidences  with  her,  she  was  sadly  mistaken.  Nan  had  a 
horror  of  falling  in  love,  and  when  the  name  of  Gabriel 

[  193  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

was  mentioned  by  her  friend,  she  made  many  scornful 
allusions  to  that  youngster. 

"  But  you  know,  Nan,  that  you  think  more  of  Ga 
briel  than  you  do  of  any  other  young  man,"  said  Eugenia. 
"  You  may  deceive  yourself  and  him,  but  you  can't  de 
ceive  me.  I  knew  the  moment  I  saw  you  together  the 
first  time  that  you  were  fond  of  him ;  and  when  I  was 
told  by  some  one  that  you  were  to  marry  Mr.  Bethune, 
I  laughed  at  them." 

"  I'm  glad  you  did,"  replied  Nan.  "  I  care  no  more 
for  Frank  Bethune  than  for  Gabriel.  I'll  tell  you  the 
truth,  if  I  thought  I  was  in  love  with  a  man,  I'd  hate 
him ;  I  wouldn't  submit  to  it." 

"  Well,  you  have  been  acting  as  if  you  hate  Gabriel," 
suggested  Eugenia. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  like  him  half  as  well  as  I  did  when  we 
were  playfellows.  I  think  he's  changed  a  great  deal.  His 
grandmother  says  he's  timid,  but  to  me  it  looks  more 
like  conceit.  No,  child,"  Nan  went  on  with  an  affecta 
tion  of  great  gravity ;  "  the  man  that  I  marry  must  be 
somebody.  He  must  be  able  to  attract  the  attention 
of  everybody." 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  move  away  from  this 
town,  or  remain  an  old  maid,"  said  the  other.  "  Or  it 
may  be  that  Gabriel  will  make  a  great  man.  He  and 
Paul  belong  to  a  debating  society  here  in  town,  and  Paul 
says  that  Gabriel  can  make  as  good  a  speech  as  any  one 
he  ever  heard.  They  invited  some  of  the  older  men  not 
long  ago,  and  mother  heard  Mr.  Tomlin  say  that  Ga 
briel  would  make  a  great  orator  some  day.  Paul  thinks 


NAN    AND    HER    FRIENDS 

there  is  nobody  in  the  world  like  Gabriel.  So  you  see 
he  is  already  getting  to  be  famous." 

"  But  will  he  ever  wear  a  red  feather  in  his  hat  and 
a  red  sash  over  his  shoulder?  "  inquired  Nan  gravely. 
She  was  reverting  now  to  the  ideal  hero  of  her  girlish 
dreams. 

"  Why,  I  should  hope  not,"  replied  Eugenia.  "  You 
don't  want  him  to  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  people, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  anxious  for  him  to  be  anything,"  said 
Nan,  "  but  you  know  I've  always  said  that  I  never  would 
marry  a  man  unless  he  wore  a  red  feather  in  his  hat,  and 
a  red  sash  over  his  shoulder." 

"  When  I  was  a  child,"  remarked  Eugenia,  "  I  always 
said  I  would  like  to  marry  a  pirate — a  man  with  a  long 
black  beard,  a  handkerchief  tied  around  his  head  to  keep 
his  hair  out  of  his  eyes,  and  a  shining  sword  in  one  hand 
and  a  pistol  in  the  other." 

"  Oh,  did  you?"  cried  Nan,  snuggling  closer  to  her 
friend.  "  Let's  talk  about  it.  I  am  beginning  to  be 
very  old,  and  I  want  to  talk  about  things  that  make  me 
feel  young  again." 

But  they  were  not  to  talk  about  their  childish  ideals 
that  day,  for  a  knock  came  on  the  door,  and  Margaret 
Gaither  was  announced — Margaret,  who  seemed  to  have 
no  ideals,  and  who  had  confessed  that  she  never  had  had 
any  childhood.  She  came  in  dignified  and  sad.  Her  face 
was  pale,  and  there  was  a  weary  look  in  her  eyes,  a  wist 
ful  expression,  as  if  she  desired  very  much  to  be  able  to 
be  happy  along  with  the  rest  of  the  people  around  her. 

f  195  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

The  two  girls  greeted  her  very  cordially.  Both  were 
fond  of  her,  and  though  they  could  not  understand  her 
troubles,  she  had  traits  that  appealed  to  both.  She  could 
be  lively  enough  on  occasion,  and  there  was  a  certain  re 
finement  of  manner  about  her  that  they  both  tried  to 
emulate — whenever  they  could  remember  to  do  so. 

"  I  heard  Nan  was  here,"  she  said,  with  a  beautiful 
smile,  "  and  I  thought  I  would  run  over  and  see  you 
both  together." 

"  That  is  a  fine  compliment  for  me,"  Eugenia  declared. 

"  Miss  Jealousy !  "  retorted  Margaret,  "  you  know  I 
am  over  here  two  or  three  times  a  week — every  time  I  can 
catch  you  at  home.  But  I  wish  you  were  jealous,"  she 
added  with  a  sigh.  "  I  think  I  should  be  perfectly 
happy  if  some  one  loved  me  well  enough  to  be  jealous." 

"  You  ought  to  be  very  happy  without  all  that,"  said 
Nan. 

"  Yes,  I  know  I  should  be ;  but  suppose  you  were  in 
my  shoes,  would  you  be  happy?"  She  turned  to  the 
girls  with  the  gravity  of  fate  itself.  As  neither  one 
made  any  reply,  she  went  on :  "  See  what  I  am — abso 
lutely  dependent  on  those  who,  not  so  very  long  ago, 
were  entire  strangers.  I  have  no  claims  on  them  what 
ever.  Oh,  don't  think  I  am  ungrateful,"  she  cried  in 
answer  to  a  gesture  of  protest  from  Nan.  "  I  would 
make  any  sacrifice  for  them — I  wrould  do  anything — 
but  you  see  how  it  is.  I  can  do  nothing ;  I  am  perfectly 
helpless.  I — but  really,  I  ought  not  to  talk  so  before 
you  two  children." 

"Children!    well,  I  thank  you!"  exclaimed  Eugenia, 


NAN    AND    HER    FRIENDS 

rising  and  making  a  mock  curtsey.  "  Nan  is  nearly  as 
old  as  you  arc,  and  I  am  two  days  older." 

"  No  matter ;  I  have  no  business  to  be  bringing  my 
troubles  into  this  giddy  company ;  but  as  I  was  coming 
across  the  street,  I  happened  to  think  of  the  difference 
in  our  positions.  Talk  about  jealousy!  I  am  jealous 
and  envious.  Yes,  and  mean;  I  have  terrible  thoughts 
sometimes.  I  wouldn't  dare  to  tell  you  what  they  arc." 

"  I  know  better,"  said  Nan ;  "  you  never  had  a  mean 
thought  in  your  life.  Aunt  Fanny  says  you  are  the 
sweetest  creature  in  the  world." 

"  Don't !  don't  tell  me  such  things  as  that,  Nan.  You 
will  run  me  wild.  There  never  was  another  woman  like 
Aunt  Fanny.  And,  oh,  I  love  her !  But  if  I  could  get 
away  and  become  independent,  and  in  some  way  pay 
them  back  for  all  they  have  done  for  me,  and  for  all  they 
hope  to  do,  I'd  be  the  happiest  girl  in  the  world." 

"  I  think  I  know  how  you  feel,"  said  Nan,  with  a 
quick  apprehension  of  the  situation ;  "  but  if  I  were  in 
your  place,  and  couldn't  help  myself,  I  wouldn't  let  it 
trouble  me  much." 

"  Very  well  said,"  Mrs.  Claiborne  remarked,  as  she 
entered  the  room.  "  Nan,  you  are  becoming  quite  a 
philosopher.  And  how  is  Margaret?  "  she  inquired,  kiss 
ing  that  blushing  maiden  on  the  cheek. 

"  I  am  quite  well,  I  thank  you,  but  I'd  be  a  great 
deal  better  if  I  thought  you  hadn't  heard  my  foolish 
talk." 

"  I  heard  a  part  of  it,  and  it  wasn't  foolish  at  all. 
The  feeling  does  you  credit,  provided  you  don't  carry 

[  197  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

it  too  far.  You  are  alone  too  much ;  you  take  your  feel 
ings  too  seriously.  You  must  remember  that  you  are 
nothing  but  a  child;  you  are  just  beginning  life.  You 
should  cultivate  bright  thoughts.  My  dear,  let  me  tell 
you  one  thing — if  Pulaski  Tomlin  had  any  idea  that 
you  had  such  feelings  as  you  have  expressed  here,  he 
would  be  miserable;  he  would  be  miserable,  and  you 
would  never  know  it.  You  said  something  about  grati 
tude  ;  well  if  you  want  to  show  any  gratitude  and  make 
those  two  people  happy,  be  happy  yourself — and  if  you 
can't  really  be  happy,  pretend  that  you  are  happy. 
And  the  first  thing  you  know,  it  will  be  a  reality.  Now, 
I  have  had  worse  troubles  than  ever  fell  to  your  portion 
and  if  I  had  brooded  over  them,  I  should  have  been  miser 
able.  Your  lot  is  a  very  fortunate  one,  as  you  will  dis 
cover  when  you  are  older." 

This  advice  was  very  good,  though  it  may  have  a 
familiar  sound  to  the  reader,  and  Margaret  tried  hard 
for  the  time  being  to  follow  it.  She  succeeded  so  well 
that  her  laughter  became  as  loud  and  as  joyous  as  that 
of  her  companions,  and  when  she  returned  home,  her 
countenance  was  so  free  from  care  and  worry  that  both 
Neighbour  Tomlin  and  his  sister  remarked  it,  and  they 
were  the  happier  for  it. 


198 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 


Silas   Tomlin  Scents   Trouble 

viNE  day — it  was  a  warm  Saturday,  giving  promise  of 
a  long  hot  Sunday  to  follow — Mr.  Sanders  was  on  his 
way  home,  feeling  very  blue  indeed.  He  had  been  to 
town  on  no  particular  business — the  day  was  a  half- 
holiday  with  the  field-hands — and  he  had  wandered  about 
aimlessly,  making  several  unsuccessful  efforts  to  crack 
a  joke  or  two  with  such  acquaintances  as  he  chanced  to 
meet.  He  had  concluded  that  his  liver  was  out  of  order, 
and  he  wondered,  as  he  went  along,  if  he  would  create 
much  public  comment  and  dissatisfaction  if  he  should 
break  his  promise  to  Nan  Dorrington  by  purchasing 
a  jug  of  liquor  and  crawling  into  the  nearest  shuck-pen. 
It  was  on  this  warm  Saturday,  the  least  promising  of  all 
days,  as  he  thought,  that  he  stumbled  upon  an  adventure 
which,  for  a  season,  proved  to  be  both  interesting  and 
amusing. 

He  was  walking  along,  as  has  been  said,  feeling  very 
blue  and  uncomfortable,  when  he  heard  his  name  called, 
and,  turning  around,  saw  a  negro  girl  running  after  him. 
She  came  up  panting  and  grinning. 

"  Miss  Ritta  say  she  wish  you'd  come  dar  right  now," 
said  the  girl.  "  I  been  runnin'  an'  hollin  atter  you  tell 

[  199  ] 


GABRIEL    TOL LIVER 

I  wuz  fcar'd  de  dogs  'd  take  attcr  me.     Miss  Ritta  say 
she  want  to  see  you  right  now." 

The  girl  was  small  and  very  slim,  bare-legged  and 
good-humoured.  Mr.  Sanders  looked  at  her  hard,  but 
failed  to  recognise  her ;  nor  had  he  the  faintest  idea  as  to 
the  identity  of  "  Miss  Ritta."  The  girl  bore  his  scrutiny 
very  well,  betraying  a  tendency  to  dance.  As  Mr.  San 
ders  tried  in  vain  to  place  her  in  his  memory,  she  slapped 
her  hands  together,  and  whirled  quickly  on  her  heel  more 
than  once. 

6  You're  a  way  yander  ahead  of  me,"  he  remarked, 
after  reflecting  awhile.  "  I  reckon  I've  slipped  a  cog 
some'rs  in  my  machinery.  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  I'm  name  Larceeny.  Don't  you  know  me,  Marse 
Billy?  I  use  ter  b'long  ter  de  Clopton  Cadets,  when  Miss 
Nan  was  de  Captain ;  but  I  wan't  ez  big  den  ez  I  is  now. 
I  been  knowin'  you  most  sence  I  was  born." 

"  What  is  your  mammy's  name  ?  " 

"  My  mammy  name  Creecy,"  replied  the  girl,  grin 
ning  broadly.  "  She  cookin'  fer  Miss  Ritta." 

Mr.  Sanders  remembered  Creecy  very  well.  She  had 
belonged  to  the  Gaithcr  family  before  the  war.  "  Where 
do  you  stay?  "  he  inquired.  He  was  not  disposed  to  ad 
mit,  even  indirectly,  that  he  didn't  know  every  human 
being  in  the  town. 

"  I  stays  dar  wid  Miss  Ritta,"  replied  Larceeny.  "  I 
goes  ter  de  do',  an'  waits  on  Miss  Nugceny." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanders,  with  a  smile  of  satis 
faction.  Here  was  a  clew.  Miss  Nugecny  must  be  Eu 
genia  Claibornc,  and  Miss  Ritta  was  probably  her  mother. 

f   200  1 


SILAS   TO ML IN   SCENTS   TROUBLE 

"  Miss  Ritta  say  she  wantcr  sec  you  right  now,"  in 
sisted  Larceeny.  "  When  she  seed  you  on  de  street,  you 
wuz  so  fur,  she  couldn't  holla  at  you,  an'  time  she  call 
me  outer  de  gyarden,  you  wuz  done  gone.  I  wuz  at  de 
fur  een'  er  de  gyarden,  pickin'  rasbe'ies,  an'  I  had  tcr 
drap  ever'thing." 

"  Do  you  pick  raspberries  with  your  mouth?  "  inquired 
Mr.  Sanders,  with  a  very  solemn  air. 

"  Is  my  mouf  dat  red  ?  "  inquired  Larceeny,  with  an 
alarmed  expression  on  her  face.  She  seized  her  ging 
ham  apron  by  the  hem,  and,  using  the  underside,  pro 
ceeded  to  remove  the  incriminating  stains,  remarking, 
"  I'm  mighty  glad  you  tol'  me,  kaze  ef  ol'  Miss  Polly  had 
seed  dat — well,  she  done  preach  my  funer'l  once,  an'  I 
don't  want  ter  hear  it  no  mo'." 

Mr.  Sanders,  following  Larceeny,  proceeded  to  the 
Gaither  Place,  and  was  ushered  into  the  parlour,  where,  to 
his  surprise,  he  found  Judge  Vardeman,  of  Rockville, 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  lawyers  of  the  State.  Mr. 
Sanders  knew  the  Judge  very  well,  and  admired  him  not 
only  on  account  of  his  great  ability  as  a  lawyer,  but  be 
cause  of  the  genial  simplicity  of  his  character.  They 
greeted  each  other  very  cordially,  and  were  beginning 
to  discuss  the  situation — it  was  the  one  topic  that  never 
grew  stale  during  that  sad  time — when  Mrs.  Claiborne 
came  in;  she  had  evidently  been  out  to  attend  to  some 
household  affairs. 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Sanders,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  sent  for  you  at  the  suggestion  of  Judge  Varde 
man,  who  is  a  kinsman  of  mine  by  marriage.  He  is 

[  201  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

surprised  that  you  and  I  are  not  well  acquainted;  but 
I  tell  him  that  in  such  sad  times  as  these,  it  is  a  wonder 
that  one  knows  one's  next-door  neighbours." 

Mr.  Sanders  made  some  fitting  response,  and  as  soon 
as  he  could  do  so  without  rudeness,  closely  studied  the 
countenance  of  the  lady.  There  was  a  vivacity,  a  gaiety, 
an  archness  in  her  manner  that  he  found  very  charming. 
Her  features  were  not  regular,  but  when  she  laughed 
or  smiled,  her  face  was  beautiful.  If  she  had  ever  ex 
perienced  any  serious  trouble,  Mr.  Sanders  thought,  she 
had  been  able  to  bear  it  bravely,  for  no  marks  of  it  were 
left  on  her  speaking  countenance.  "  Give  me  a  firm  faith 
and  a  light  heart,"  says  an  ancient  writer,  "  and  the 
world  may  have  everything  else." 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Sanders,"  said  the  lady, 
laughing  lightly,  "  to  ask  if  you  will  undertake  to  be 
my  drummer." 

"  Your  drummer !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanders.  "  Well, 
I've  been  told  that  I  have  a  way  of  blowin'  my  own  horn, 
when  the  weather  is  fine  and  the  spring  sap  is  runnin', 
but  as  for  drummin',  I  reely  hain't  got  the  knack  on 
it." 

"Oh,  I  only  want  you  to  do  a  little  talking  here  and 
there,  and  give  out  various  hints  and  intimations — you 
know  what  I  mean.  I  am  anxious  to  even  up  matters  with 
a  friend  of  yours,  who,  I  am  afraid,  isn't  any  better  than 
he  should  be." 

While  the  lady  was  talking,  Mr.  Sanders  was  staring 
at  a  couple  of  crayon  portraits  on  the  wall.  He  rose 
from  his  seat,  walked  across  the  room,  and  attentively 

[  202  ] 


SILAS   TOM LIN   SCENTS   TROUBLE 

studied  one  of  the  portraits.     It  depicted  a  man  be 
tween  twenty -five  and  thirty-five. 

"Well,  I'll  be  jigged!"  he  exclaimed  as  he  resumed 
his  seat.  "  Ef  that  ain't  Silas  Tomlin  I'm  a  Dutchman !  " 

"  Why,  I  shouldn't  think  you  would  recognise  him 
after  all  these  years,"  the  lady  said,  smiling  brightly. 
"  Don't  you  think  the  portrait  flatters  him?  " 

"  Quite  a  considerbul,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders ;  "  but 
Silas  has  got  p'ints  about  his  countenance  that  a  coat  of 
tar  wouldn't  hide.  Trim  his  eyebrows,  an'  give  him  a 
clean,  close  shave,  an'  he's  e'en  about  the  same  as  he  was 
then.  An'  ef  I  ain't  mighty  much  mistaken,  the  pictur' 
by  his  side  was  intended  to  be  took  for  you.  The  feller 
that  took  it  forgot  to  put  the  right  kind  of  a  sparkle 
in  the  eye,  an'  he  didn't  ketch  the  laugh  that  oughter  be 
hov'rin'  round  the  mouth,  like  a  butterfly  tryin'  to  light 
on  a  pink  rose;  but  all  in  all,  it's  a  mighty  good  like 
ness." 

"  Now,  don't  you  think  I  should  thank  Mr.  Sanders?  " 
said  the  lady,  turning  to  Judge  Vardeman.  "  It  has 
been  many  a  day  since  I  have  had  such  a  compliment. 
Actually,  I  believe  I  am  blushing !  "  and  she  was. 

"  It  wasn't  much  of  a  compliment  to  the  artist,"  the 
Judge  suggested. 

"  Well,  when  it  comes  to  paintin'  a  purty  'oman,"  re 
marked  Mr.  Sanders,  "  it's  powerful  hard  for  to  git  in 
all  the  p'ints.  A  feller  could  paint  our  picturs  in  short 
order,  Judge.  A  couple  of  kags  of  pink  paint,  a  white 
wash  brush,  an'  two  or  three  strokes,  bold  an'  free,  would 
do  the  business." 

[  203  ] 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

The  Judge's  eye  twinkled  merrily,  and  Mrs.  Claiborne 
laughingly  exclaimed,  "  Why,  you'd  make  quite  an  ar 
tist.  You  certainly  have  an  eye  for  colour." 

Thereupon  Judge  Vardeman  suggested  to  Mrs.  Clai 
borne  that  she  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  place  Mr. 
Sanders  in  possession  of  all  the  facts  necessary  to  the 
successful  carrying  out  of  the  plan  she  had  in  view.  It 
was  a  plan,  the  Judge  went  on  to  say,  that  he  did  not 
wholly  indorse,  bordering,  as  it  did,  on  frivolity,  but  as 
the  lady  was  determined  on  it,  he  would  not  advise  against 
it,  as  the  results  bade  fair  to  be  harmless. 

It  must  have  been  quite  a  story  the  lady  had  to  tell 
Mr.  Sanders,  for  the  sun  was  nearly  down  when  he  came 
from  the  house ;  and  it  must  have  been  somewhat  amus 
ing,  too,  for  he  came  down  the  steps  laughing  heartily. 
When  he  reached  the  sidewalk,  he  paused,  looked  back  at 
the  closed  door,  shook  his  head,  and  threw  up  his  hands, 
exclaiming  to  himself,  "  Bless  Katy !  I'm  powerful  glad 
I  ain't  got  no  'oman  on  my  trail.  'Specially  one  like  her. 
Be  jigged  ef  she  don't  shake  th'is  old  town  up !  " 

He  heard  voices  behind  him,  and  turned  to  see  Eugenia 
Claiborne  and  Paul  Tomlin  walking  slowly  along,  en 
gaged  in  a  very  engrossing  conversation.  Mr.  Sanders 
looked  at  the  couple  long  enough  to  make  sure  that  he 
was  not  mistaken  as  to  their  identity,  and  then  he  went 
on  his  way. 

He  had  intended  to  go  straight  home,  but,  yielding 
to  a  sudden  whim  or  impulse,  he  went  to  the  tavern  in 
stead.  This  old  tavern,  at  a  certain  hour  of  the  day, 
was  the  resort  of  all  the  men,  old  and  young,  who  de- 

f  204  1 


SILAS   TOM LIN   SCENTS   TROUBLE 

sired  to  indulge  in  idle  gossip,  or  hear  the  latest  news 
that  might  be  brought  by  some  stray  traveller,  or  com 
mercial  agent,  or  cotton-buyer  from  Malvern.  For  years, 
Mr.  Woodruff,  the  proprietor — he  had  come  from  Ver 
mont  in  the  forties,  as  a  school-teacher — complained  that 
the  hospitality  of  the  citizens  was  enough  to  ruin  any 
public-house  that  had  no  gold  mine  to  draw  upon.  But, 
after  the  war,  the  tide,  such  as  it  was,  turned  in  his 
favour,  and  by  the  early  part  of  1868,  he  was  beginning 
to  profit  by  what  he  called  "  a  pretty  good  line  of  cus 
tom,"  and  there  were  days  in  the  busy  season  when  he 
was  hard  put  to  it  to  accommodate  his  guests  in  the 
way  he  desired. 

During  the  spring  and  summer  months,  there  was  no 
pleasanter  place  than  the  long,  low  veranda  of  Mr. 
Woodruff's  tavern,  and  it  was  very  popular  with  those 
who  had  an  idle  hour  at  their  disposal.  This  veranda 
was  much  patronised  by  Mr.  Silas  Tomlin,  who,  after 
the  death  of  his  wife,  had  no  home-life  worthy  of  the 
name.  Silas  was  not  socially  inclined;  he  took  no  part 
in  the  gossip  and  tittletattle  that  flowed  up  and  down 
the  veranda.  The  most  interesting  bit  of  news  never 
caused  him  to  turn  his  head,  and  the  raciest  anecdote 
failed  to  bring  a  smile  to  his  face.  Nevertheless,  nothing 
seemed  to  please  him  better  than  to  draw  a  chair  some 
distance  away  from  the  group  of  loungers,  yet  not  out 
of  earshot,  lean  back  against  one  of  the  supporting  pil 
lars,  close  his  eyes  and  listen  to  all  that  was  said,  or 
dream  his  own  dreams,  such  as  they  might  be. 

Mr.  Sanders  was  well  aware  of  Silas  Tomlin's  tavern 
[  205   J 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

habits,  and  this  was  what  induced  him  to  turn  his  feet  in 
that  direction.  He  expected  to  find  Silas  there  at  this 
particular  hour  and  he  was  not  disappointed.  Silas  was 
sitting  aloof  from  the  crowd,  his  chair  leaning  against 
one  of  the  columns,  his  legs  crossed,  his  eyes  closed,  and 
his  hands  folded  in  his  lap.  But  for  an  occasional 
nervous  movement  of  his  thin  lips,  and  the  twitching 
of  his  thumbs,  he  might  have  served  as  a  model  for  a 
statue  of  Repose.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  all  his  faculties 
were  alert. 

The  crowd  of  loungers  was  somewhat  larger  than 
usual,  having  been  augmented  during  the  day  by  three 
commercial  agents  and  a  couple  of  cotton-buyers.  Law 
yer  Tidwell  was  taking  advantage  of  the  occasion  to  ex 
pound  and  explain  several  very  delicate  and  intricate 
constitutional  problems.  Mr.  Tidwell  was  a  very  able 
man  in  some  respects,  and  he  was  a  very  good  talker,  al 
though  he  wanted  to  do  all  the  talking  himself.  He 
lowered  his  voice  slightly,  as  he  saw  Mr.  Sanders,  but 
kept  on  with  his  exposition  of  our  organic  law. 

"  Hello,  Mr.  Sanders !  "  said  one  of  the  cotton-buyers, 
taking  advantage  of  a  momentary  pause  in  Mr.  Tidwell's 
monologue ;  "  how  are  you  getting  on  these  days  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  was  gittin'  on  right  peart  tell  to-day,  but 
this  mornin'  I  struck  a  job  that's  made  me  weak  an' 
w'ary." 

"  You're  looking  mighty  well,  anyhow.  What  has 
been  the  trouble  to-day  ?  " 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you,"  responded  Mr.  Sanders,  with  a 
show  of  animation.  "  I've  been  gwine  round  all  day 

[  206  1 


SILAS   TOMLIN   SCENTS   TROUBLE 

tryin'  to  git  up  subscriptions  for  to  build  a  flatform  for 
Gus  Tidwell.  Gus  needs  a  place  whar  he  can  stand  an' 
explutterate  on  the  Constitution  all  day,  and  not  be  in 
nobody's  way." 

"  Well,  of  course  you  succeeded,"  remarked  Mr.  Tid 
well,  good-naturedly. 

"  Middlin'  well — middlin'  well.  A  coloured  lady  flung 
a  dime  in  the  box,  an'  I  put  in  a  quarter.  In  all,  I  reckon 
I've  raised  a  dollar  an'  a  half.  But  I  reely  believe  I  could 
'a'  raised  a  hunderd  dollars  ef  I'd  'a'  told  'em  whar  the 
flatform  was  to  be  built." 

"  Where  is  that  ?  "  some  one  inquired. 

"  In  the  pine-thicket  behind  the  graveyard,"  re 
sponded  Mr.  Sanders,  so  earnestly  and  promptly  that  the 
crowd  shouted  with  laughter.  Even  Mr.  Tidwell,  who 
was  "  case-hardened,"  as  Mrs.  Absalom  would  say,  to 
Mr.  Sanders's  jokes,  joined  in  with  the  rest. 

"  Gus  is  a  purty  good  lawyer,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  lift 
ing  his  voice  a  little  to  make  sure  that  Silas  Tomlin 
would  hear  every  syllable  of  what  he  intended  to  say; 
"  but  he'll  never  be  at  his  best  till  he  finds  out  that  the 
Constitution,  like  the  Bible,  can  be  translated  to  suit  the 
idees  of  any  party  or  any  crank.  But  I  allers  brag  on 
Gus  because  I  believe  in  paternizin'  home  industries. 
Howsomever,  between  us  boys  an'  gals,  an'  not  aimin'  for 
it  to  go  any  furder,  there's  a  lawyer  in  town  to-day — 
an'  maybe  he'll  be  here  to-morrow — who  knows  more 
about  the  law  in  one  minnit  than  Gus  could  tell  you  in 
a  day  and  a  half.  An'  when  it  comes  to  explutterations 
on  p'ints  of  constitutional  law,  Gus  wouldn't  be  in  it." 

[   207   1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Is  that  so  ?  What  is  the  gentleman's  name  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Tidwell. 

"  Judge  Albert  Vardeman,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders. 
"  Now,  when  you  come  to  talk  about  lawyers,  you'll  be 
doin'  yourself  injustice  cf  you  leave  out  the  name  of 
Albert  Vardeman.  He  ain't  got  much  of  a  figure — he's 
shaped  somethin'  like  a  gourdful  of  water — but  I  tell 
you  he's  got  a  head  on  him." 

"  Is  the  Judge  really  here  ?  "  Mr.  Tidwell  asked.  "  I'd 
like  very  much  to  have  a  talk  with  him." 

"  I  don't  blame  you,  Gus,"  remarke'd  Mr.  Sanders, 
"  you  can  git  more  straight  p'ints  from  Albert  Varde 
man  than  you'll  find  in  the  books.  He's  been  at  Mrs. 
Claiborne's  all  day ;  I  reckon  she's  gittin'  him  to  ten'  to 
some  law  business  for  her.  Thcy's  some  kinder  kinnery 
betwixt  'em.  His  mammy's  cat  kctched  a  rat  in  her 
gran'mammy's  smokehouse,  I  reckon.  We've  got  more 
kinfolks  in  these  diggin's,  than  they  has  been  sence  the 
first  generation  artcr  Adam." 

At  the  mention  of  Mrs.  Claiborne's  name  Silas  Tom- 
lin  opened  his  eyes  and  uncrossed  his  legs.  This  move- 
mcnt  caused  him  to  lose  his  balance,  and  his  chair  fell 
from  a  leaning  position  with  a  sharp  bang. 

"  What  sort  of  a  dream  did  you  have,  Silas  ?  "  Mr. 
Sanders  inquired  with  affected  solicitude.  "  You'd  bet 
ter  watch  out;  Dock  Dorrin'ton  says  that  when  a  man 
gits  bald-headed,  it's  a  sign  that  his  bones  is  as  brittle 
as  glass.  He  found  that  out  on  one  of  his  furrin  trips." 

"  Don't  worry  about  me,  Sanders,"  replied  Silas.  He 
tried  to  smile. 

[   208   ] 


SILAS   TOMLIN   SCENTS   TROUBLE 

"  Well,  I  don't  reckon  you  could  call  it  worry,  Silas, 
bekaze  when  I  ketch  a  case  of  the  worries,  it  allers  sends 
me  to  bed  wi'  the  jimmyjon.  I  can  be  neighbourly  wi'out 
worryin',  I  hope." 

"  For  a  woman  with  a  grown  daughter,"  remarked 
Mr.  Tidwell,  speaking  his  thoughts  aloud,  as  was  his 
habit,  "  Mrs.  Claiborne  is  well  preserved — very  well  pre 
served."  Mr.  Tidwell  was  a  widower,  of  several  years' 
standing. 

"  Why,  she's  not  only  preserved,  she's  the  preserves 
an'  the  preserver,"  Mr.  Sanders  declared.  "  To  look  in 
her  eye  an'  watch  her  thoughts  sparklin'  like  fire,  to 
watch  her  movements,  an'  hear  her  laugh,  not  only  makes 
a  feller  young  agin,  but  makes  him  glad  he's  a-livin'. 
An'  that  gal  of  her'n — well,  she's  a  thoroughbred.  Did 
you  ever  notice  the  way  she  holds  her  head?  I  never 
see  her  an'  Nan  Dorrington  together  but  what  I'm  sorry 
I  never  got  married.  I'd  put  up  wi'  all  the  tribulation 
for  to  have  a  gal  like  arry  one  on  'em." 

Mr.  Sanders  paused  a  moment,  and  then  turned  to 
Silas  Tomlin.  "  Silas,  I  think  Paul  is  fixin'  for  to  do 
you  proud.  As  I  come  along  jest  now,  him  an'  Jinny 
Claiborne  was  walkin'  mighty  close  together.  They  must 
'a'  been  swappin'  some  mighty  sweet  secrets,  bekaze  they 
hardly  spoke  above  a  whisper.  An'  they  didn't  look  like 
they  was  in  much  of  a  hurry." 

While  Mr.  Sanders  was  describing  the  scene  he  had 
witnessed,  exaggerating  the  facts  to  suit  his  whimsical 
humour,  Silas  Tomlin  sat  bold  upright  in  his  chair,  his 
eyes  half-shut,  and  his  thin  lips  working  nervously. 

[  209  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Paul  knows  which  side  his  bread  is  buttered  on,"  he 
snapped  out. 

"  Bread !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanders,  pretending  to  be 
come  tremendously  excited ;  "  bread !  shorely  you  must 
mean  poun'-cake,  Silas.  And  whoever  heard  of  putting 
butter  on  poun'-cake  ?  " 

When  the  loungers  began  to  disperse,  some  of  them 
going  home,  and  others  going  in  to  supper  in  response 
to  the  tavern  bell,  Mr.  Silas  Tomlin  called  to  Lawyer 
Tidwell,  and  the  two  walked  along  together,  their  homes 
lying  in  the  same  direction. 

"  Gus,"  said  Silas,  somewhat  nervously,  "  I  want  to 
put  a  case  to  you.  It's  purely  imaginary,  and  has  prob 
ably  never  happened  in  the  history  of  the  world." 

"  You  mean  what  we  lawyers  call  a  hypothetical  case," 
remarked  Mr.  Tidwell,  in  a  tone  that  suggested  a  spa 
cious  and  a  tolerant  mind. 

"  Precisely,"  replied  Mr.  Silas  Tomlin,  with  some 
eagerness.  "  I  was  readin'  a  tale  in  an  old  copy  of 
Blackwood's  Magazine  the  other  day,  an'  the  whole  busi 
ness  turned  on  just  such  a  case.  The  sum  and  substance 
of  it  was  about  this :  A  man  marries  a  woman  and  they 
get  along  together  all  right  for  awhile.  Then,  all  of  a 
sudden  she  takes  a  mortal  dislike  to  the  man,  screams  like 
mad  when  he  goes  about  her,  and  kicks  up  generally  when 
his  name  is  mentioned.  He,  being  a  man  of  some  spirit, 
and  rather  touchy  at  best,  finally  leaves  her  in  disgust. 
Finally  her  folks  send  him  word  that  she  is  dead.  On 
the  strength  of  that  information,  he  marries  again,  after 
so  long  a  time.  All  goes  well  for  eighteen  or  twenty 

r  210  i 


SILAS   TOMLIN   SCENTS   TROUBLE 

years,  and  then  suddenly  the  first  wife  turns  up.  Now 
what,  in  law,  is  the  man's  status?  Where  does  he  stand? 
Is  this  woman  really  his  wife  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Tidwell.  "  His  sec 
ond  marriage  is  no  marriage  at  all.  The  issue  of  such  a 
marriage  is  illegitimate." 

"  That's  just  what  I  thought,"  commented  Silas  Tom- 
lin.  "  But  in  the  tale,  when  the  woman  comes  back,  and 
puts  in  her  claim,  the  judge  flings  her  case  out  of  court." 

"  That  was  in  England,"  Mr.  Tidwell  suggested. 

"  Or  Scotland — I  forget  which,"  Silas  Tomlin  replied. 

"  Well,  it  isn't  the  law  over  here,"  Mr.  Tidwell  de 
clared  confidently.  They  walked  on  a  little  way,  when 
the  lawyer  suddenly  turned  to  Silas  and  said :  "  Mr. 
Tomlin,  will  you  fetch  that  magazine  in  to-morrow?  I 
want  to  see  the  ground  on  which  the  woman's  case  was 
thrown  out.  It's  interesting,  even  if  it  is  all  fiction.  Per 
haps  there  was  some  technicality." 

"  All  right,  Gus ;    I'll  fetch  it  in  to-morrow." 


[  211  ] 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 


Silas  Tomlin  Finds  Trouble 

W  HEN  Silas  Tomlin  reached  home,  he  found  his  son 
reading  a  book.  No  word  of  salutation  passed  between 
them;  Paul  simply  changed  his  position  in  the  chair, 
and  Silas  grunted.  They  had  no  confidences,  and  they 
seemed  to  have  nothing  in  common.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
however,  Silas  was  very  fond  of  this  son,  proud  of  his 
appearance — the  lad  was  as  neat  as  a  pin,  and  fairly 
well-favoured, — and  proud  of  his  love  for  books.  Un 
happily,  Silas  was  never  able  to  show  his  affection  and 
his  fair-haired  son  never  knew  to  his  dying  day  how  large 
a  place  he  occupied  in  his  father's  heart.  Miserly  Silas 
was  with  money,  but  his  love  for  his  son  was  boundless. 
It  destroyed  or  excluded  every  other  sentiment  or  emo 
tion  that  was  in  conflict  with  it.  His  miserliness  was  for 
his  son's  sake,  and  he  never  put  away  a  dollar  without  a 
feeling  of  exultation;  he  rejoiced  in  the  fact  that  it 
would  enable  his  son  to  live  more  comfortably  than  his 
father  had  cared  to  live.  Silas  loved  money,  not  for  its 
own  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  his  son. 

Mrs.  Absalom  would  have  laughed  at  such  a  statement. 
The  social  structure  of  the  Southern  people,  and  the 
habits  and  traditions  based  thereon,  were  of  such  a  char- 

[    212   ] 


SILAS    TOM LIN   FINDS   TROUBLE 

acter  that  a  great  majority  could  not  be  brought  to  be 
lieve  that  it  was  possible  for  parsimony  to  exist  side  by 
side  with  any  of  the  finer  feelings.  All  the  conditions 
and  circumstances,  the  ability  to  command  leisure,  the 
very  climate  itself,  promoted  hospitality,  generosity, 
open-handedness,  and  that  fine  spirit  of  lavishness  that 
seeks  at  any  cost  to  give  pleasure  to  others.  Popular 
opinion,  therefore,  looked  with  a  cold  and  suspicious  eye 
on  all  manifestations  of  selfishness. 

But  Silas  Tomlin's  parsimony,  his  stinginess,  had  no 
selfish  basis.  He  was  saving  not  for  himself,  but  for  his 
son,  in  whom  all  his  affections  and  all  his  ambitions  were 
centred.  He  had  reared  Paul  tenderly  without  display 
ing  any  tenderness,  and  if  the  son  had  speculated  at  all 
in  regard  to  the  various  liberties  he  had  been  allowed,  or 
the  indulgent  methods  that  had  been  employed  in  his 
bringing  up,  he  would  have  traced  them  to  the  careless 
ness  and  indifference  of  his  father,  rather  than  to  the 
ardent  affection  that  burned  unseen  and  unmarked  in 
Silas's  bosom. 

He  had  never,  by  word  or  act,  intentionally  wounded 
the  feelings  of  his  son;  he  had  never  thrown  himself  in 
the  path  of  Paul's  wishes.  There  was  a  feeling  in  Shady 
Dale  that  Silas  was  permitting  his  son  to  go  to  the  dogs ; 
whereas,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  no  detective  was  ever  more 
alert.  Without  seeming  to  do  so,  he  had  kept  an  eye 
on  all  Paul's  comings  and  goings.  When  the  lad's  de 
sires  were  reasonable,  they  were  promptly  gratified; 
when  they  were  unreasonable,  their  gratification  was 
postponed  until  they  were  forgotten.  Books  Paul  had 

[  213  I 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

in  abundance.  Half  of  the  large  library  of  Meredith 
Tomlin  had  fallen  to  Silas,  and  the  other  half  to  Pulaski 
Tomlin,  and  the  lad  had  free  access  to  all. 

Paul  was  very  fond  of  his  Uncle  Pulaski  and  his  Aunt 
Fanny,  and  he  was  far  more  familiar  with  these  two  than 
he  was  with  his  father.  His  association  with  his  uncle 
and  aunt  was  in  the  nature  of  a  liberal  education.  It 
was  Pulaski  Tomlin  who  really  formed  Paul's  character, 
who  gathered  together  all  the  elements  of  good  that  are 
native  to  the  mind  of  a  sensitive  lad,  and  moulded  them 
until  they  were  strong  enough  to  outweigh  and  over 
whelm  the  impulses  of  evil  that  are  also  native  to  the 
growing  mind.  Thus  it  fell  out  that  Paul  was  a  young 
man  to  be  admired  and  loved  by  all  who  find  modest 
merit  pleasing. 

When  his  father  arrived  at  home  on  that  particular 
evening,  as  has  been  noted,  Paul  was  reading  a  book.  He 
changed  his  position,  but  said  nothing.  After  awhile, 
however,  he  felt  something  was  wrong.  His  father,  in 
stead  of  seating  himself  at  the  table,  and  consulting  his 
note-book,  walked  up  and  down  the  floor. 

"What  is  wrong?  Are  you  ill?"  Paul  asked  after 
awhile. 

"  No,  son ;  I  am  as  well  in  body  as  ever  I  was ;  but 
I'm  greatly  troubled.  I  wish  to  heaven  I  could  go  back 
to  the  beginning,  and  tell  you  all  about  it;  but  I  can't 
— I  just  can't." 

Paul  also  had  his  troubles,  and  he  regarded  his  father 
gloomily  enough.  "  Why  can't  you  tell  me?  "  he  asked, 
somewhat  impatiently.  "  But  I  needn't  ask  you  that ; 


SILAS    TOMLIN   FINDS   TROUBLE 

you  never  tell  me  anything.     I  heard  something  to-day 
that  made  me  ashamed." 

"  Ashamed,  Paul?  "  gasped  his  father. 

"  Yes — ashamed.  And  if  it  is  true,  I  am  going  away 
from  here  and  never  show  my  face  again." 

Silas  fell,  rather  than  leaned,  against  the  mantel-piece, 
his  face  ghastly  white.  He  tried  to  say,  "  What  did  you 
hear,  Paul  ?  "  His  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  issued  from 
his  throat. 

"  Two  or  three  persons  told  me  to-day,"  Paul  went  I 
on,  "  that  they  had  heard  of  your  intention  to  join  the 
radicals,  and  run  for  the  legislature.  I  told  each  and 
every  one  of  them  that  it  was  an  infernal  lie;  but  I 
don't  know  whether  it  is  a  lie  or  not.  If  it  isn't  I'll 
leave  here." 

Silas  Tomlin's  heart  had  been  in  his  throat,  as  the  say 
ing  is,  but  he  gulped  it  down  again  and  smiled  faintly. 
If  this  was  all  Paul  had  heard,  well  and  good.  Com 
pared  with  some  other  things,  it  was  a  mere  matter  of 
moonshine.  Paul  took  up  his  book  again,  but  he  turned 
the  leaves  rapidly,  and  it  was  plain  that  he  was  im 
patiently  waiting  for  further  information. 

At  last  Silas  spoke :  "  All  the  truth  in  that  report, 
Paul,  is  this — It  has  been  suggested  to  me  that  it  would 
be  better  for  the  whites  here  if  some  one  who  sympathises 
with  their  plans,  and  understands  their  interests,  should  ^~ 
pretend  to  become  a  Republican,  and  make  the  race  for 
the  legislature.  This  is  what  some  of  our  best  men 
think." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  our  best  men,  father  ?  " 
[  215   1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  that  I  am  at  liberty  to  mention 
names  even  to  you,  Paul,"  said  Silas,  who  had  no  notion 
of  being  driven  into  a  corner.  "  And  then,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  white  Republicans  are  not  as  fond  of  the 
negroes  as  they  pretend  to  be.  And  if  they  can't  get 
•*  some  native-born  white  man  to  run,  who  do  you  reckon 
they'll  have  to  put  up  as  a  candidate?  Why,  old  Jerry, 
Pulaski's  man  of  all  work." 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  "  Paul  asked  with  rising  indig 
nation.  "  Jerry  is  a  great  deal  better  than  any  white 
man  who  puts  himself  on  an  equality  with  him." 

"  Have  you  met  Mr.  Hotchkiss?  "  asked  Silas.  "  He 
seems  to  be  a  very  clever  man." 

"  No,  I  haven't  met  him  and  I  don't  want  to  meet 
him."  Paul  rose  from  his  seat,  and  stood  facing  his 
father.  He  was  a  likely-looking  young  man,  tall  and 
slim,  but  broad-shouldered.  He  had  the  delicate  pink 
complexion  that  belongs  to  fair-haired  persons.  "  This 
is  a  question,  father,  that  can't  be  discussed  between  us. 
You  beat  about  the  bush  in  such  a  way  as  to  compel  me 
to  believe  the  reports  I  have  heard  are  true.  Well,  you 
can  do  as  you  like;  I'll  not  presume  to  dictate  to  you. 
You  may  disgrace  yourself,  but  you  sha'n't  disgrace  me." 

With  that,  the  high-strung  young  fellow  seized  his  hat, 
and  flung  out  of  the  house,  carrying  his  book  with  him. 
He  shut  the  door  after  him  with  a  bang,  as  he  went 
out,  demonstrating  that  he  was  full  of  the  heroic  indig 
nation  that  only  young  blood  can  kindle. 

Silas  Tomlin  sank  into  a  chair,  as  he  heard  the  street- 
door  slammed.  "  Disgrace  him !  My  God !  I've  already 

F  216  1 


SILAS   TOMLIN   FINDS   TROUBLE 

disgraced  him,  and  when  he  finds  it  out  he'll  hate  me. 
Oh,  Lord !  "  If  the  man's  fountain  of  tears  had  not  been 
dried  up  years  before,  he  would  have  wept  scalding  ones. 

An  inner  door  opened  and  a  negro  woman  peeped  in. 
Seeing  no  one  but  Silas,  she  cried  out  indignantly,  "  Who 
dat  slammin'  dat  front  do'?  You'll  break  eve'y  glass  in 
dc  house,  an'  half  dc  crock'ry-warc  in  de  dinin'-room,  an' 
den  you'll  say  I  done  it." 

"  It  was  Paul,  Rhody ;  he  was  angry  about  some 
thing." 

The  negro  woman  gave  an  indignant  snort.  "  I  don't 
blame  'im — I  don't  blame  'im ;  not  one  bit.  Ain't  I  been 
tellin'  you  how  'twould  be?  Ain't  I  been  tellin'  you  dat 
you'd  run  'im  off  wid  yo'  scrimpin'  an'  pinchin'?  But 
'tain't  dat  dat  run'd  'im  off.  It's  sump'n  wuss'n  dat. 
He  ain't  never  done  dat  away  befo'.  Ef  dat  boy  ain't 
had  de  patience  er  Job,  he'd  'a'  been  gone  fum  here  long 
ago." 

Rhody  came  into  the  room  where  she  could  look  Silas 
in  the  eyes.  He  regarded  her  with  curiosity,  which  ap 
peared  to  be  the  only  emotion  left  him.  Certainly  he 
had  never  seen  his  cook  and  aforetime  slave  in  such  a 
tantrum.  What  would  she  say  and  do  next? 

"  Home !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  loud  voice.  Then  she 
turned  around  and  deliberately  inspected  the  room  as  if 
she  had  never  seen  it  before.  "  An'  so  dis  is  what  you 
call  Home — you,  wid  all  yo'  money  hid  away  in  holes  in 
de  groun' !  Dis  de  kinder  place  you  fix  up  fer  dat  boy, 
an'  him  de  onliest  one  you  got !  Well !  "  Rhody's  indig 
nation  could  only  be  accounted  for  on  the  ground  that 

r  217 1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

she  had  overheard  the  whole  conversation  between  father 
and  son. 

"  Why,  you  never  said  anything  about  it  before,"  re 
marked  Silas  Tomlin. 

"  No,  I  didn't,  an'  I  wouldn't  say  it  now,  ef  dat  boy 
hadn't  'a'  foun'  out  fer  hisse'f  what  kinder  daddy  he 
got." 

"  Blast  your  black  hide !  I'll  knock  your  brains  out 
if  you  talk  that  way  to  me !  "  exclaimed  Silas  Tomlin, 
white  with  anger. 

"  Well,  I  bet  you  nobody  don't  knock  yo'  brains  out," 
remarked  Rhody  undismayed.  "  An'  while  I'm  'bout  it, 
I'll  tell  you  dis :  Yo'  supper's  in  dar  in  de  pots  an'  pans ; 
ef  you  want  it  you  go  git  it  an'  put  on  de  table,  er  set 
flat  on  de  h'ath  an'  eat  it.  Dat  chile's  gone,  an'  I'm 
gwine." 

"  You  dratted  fool !  "  Silas  exclaimed,  "  you  know 
Paul  hasn't  gone  for  good.  He'll  come  back  when  he 
gets  hungry,  and  be  glad  to  come." 

"  Is  you  ever  seed  him  do  dis  away  befo'  sence  he  been 
born?"  Rhody  paused  and  waited  for  a  reply,  but 
none  was  forthcoming.  "  No,  you  ain't !  no,  you  ain't ! 
You  don't  know  no  mo'  'bout  dat  chile  dan  ef  he  want 
yone.  But  I — me — oP  Rhody — I  know  'im.  I  kin  look 
at  'im  sideways  an'  tell  ef  he  feelin'  good  er  bad  er 
diffunt.  What  you  done  done  ter  dat  chile?  Tell  me 
dat." 

But  Silas  Tomlin  answered  never  a  word.  He  sat 
glowering  at  Rhody  in  a  way  that  would  have  subdued 
and  frightened  a  negro  unused  to  his  ways.  Rhody 

[  218  1 


SILAS    TOM LIN   FINDS   TROUBLE 

started  toward  the  kitchen,  but  at  the  door  leading  to 
the  dining-room  she  paused  and  turned  around.  "  Oh, 
you  got  a  heap  ter  answer  f er — a  mighty  heap ;  an'  de 
day  will  come  when  you'll  bar  in  mind  eve'y  word  I  been 
tellin'  you  'bout  dat  chile  fum  de  time  he  could  wobble 
'roun'  an'  call  me  mammy." 

With  that  she  went  out.  Silas  heard  her  moving  about 
in  the  back  part  of  the  house,  but  after  awhile  all  was 
silence.  He  sat  for  some  time  communing  with  himself, 
and  trying  in  vain  to  map  out  some  consistent  course  of 
action.  What  a  blessing  it  would  be,  he  thought,  if  Paul 
would  make  good  his  threat,  and  go  away !  It  would  be 
like  tearing  his  father's  heart-strings  out,  but  better  that 
than  that  he  should  remain  and  be  a  witness  to  his  own 
disgrace,  and  to  the  bitter  humiliation  of  his  father. 

Silas  had  intended  to  warn  his  son  that  he  was  throw 
ing  away  his  time  by  going  with  Eugenia  Claiborne — 
that  marriage  with  her  was  utterly  impossible.  But  it 
was  a  very  delicate  subject,  and,  once  embarked  in  it, 
he  would  have  been  unable  to  give  his  son  any  adequate 
or  satisfactory  reason  for  the  interdiction.  Many  wild 
and  whirling  thoughts  passed  through  the  mind  of  Silas 
Tomlin,  but  at  the  end,  he  asked  himself  why  he  should 
cross  the  creek  before  he  came  to  it? 

The  reflection  was  soothing  enough  to  bring  home  to 
his  mind  the  fact  that  he  had  had  no  supper.  Uncon 
sciously,  and  through  force  of  habit,  he  had  been  wait 
ing  for  Rhody  to  set  the  small  bell  to  tinkling,  as  a  signal 
that  the  meal  was  ready,  but  no  sound  had  come  to  his 
ears.  He  rose  to  investigate.  A  solitary  candle  was 

[  219  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

flaring  on  the  dining-table.  He  went  to  the  door  leading 
to  the  kitchen  and  called  Rhody,  but  he  received  no 
answer. 

"  Blast  your  impudent  hide !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  what 
are  you  doing  out  there  ?  Why  don't  you  put  supper  on 
the  table?" 

He  would  have  had  silence  for  an  answer,  but  for  the 
barking  of  a  nearby  neighbour's  dog.  He  went  into  the 
kitchen,  and  found  the  fire  nearly  out,  whereupon  he 
made  dire  threats  against  his  cook,  but,  in  the  end,  he 
was  compelled  to  fish  his  supper  from  the  pans  as  best 
he  could. 

When  he  had  finished  he  looked  at  the  clock,  and  was 
surprised  to  find  that  it  was  only  a  little  after  eight. 
During  the  course  of  an  hour  and  a  half,  he  seemed  to 
have  lived  and  suffered  a  year  and  a  half.  The  early 
hour  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  display  one  of  his  char 
acteristic  traits.  It  had  never  been  his  way  to  run  from 
trouble.  When  a  small  boy,  if  his  nurse  told  him  the 
booger-man  was  behind  a  bush,  he  always  insisted  on 
investigating.  The  same  impulse  seized  him  now.  If 
this  Mrs.  Claiborne  proposed  to  make  any  move  against 
him — as  he  inferred  from  the  hints  which  the  jovial  Mr. 
Sanders  had  flung  at  his  head — he  would  beard  the 
lioness  in  her  den,  and  find  out  what  she  meant,  and  what 
she  wanted. 

Silas  was  prompt  to  act  on  the  impulse,  and  as  soon 
as  he  could  make  the  house  secure,  he  proceeded  to  the 
Gaither  Place.  His  knock,  after  some  delay,  was  an 
swered  by  Eugenia.  The  girl  involuntarily  drew  back 

[  220  1 


SILAS   TOMLIN   FINDS   TROUBLE 

when  she  saw  who  the  visitor  was.  "  What  is  it  you 
wish?  "  she  inquired. 

"  If  your  mother  is  at  home,  please  ask  her  if  she 
will  see  Silas  Tomlin  on  a  matter  of  business." 

Eugenia  left  the  door  open,  and  in  a  moment,  from 
one  of  the  rear  rooms  came  the  sound  of  merry,  unre 
strained  laughter,  which  only  ceased  when  some  one  ut 
tered  a  warning  "  Sh-h !  " 

Eugenia  returned  almost  immediately,  and  invited  the 
visitor  into  the  parlour,  saying,  "  It  is  rather  late  for 
business,  mamma  says,  but  she  will  see  you." 

Silas  seated  himself  on  a  sofa,  and  had  time  to  look 
about  him  before  the  lady  of  the  house  came  in.  It  was 
his  second  visit  to  Mrs.  Claiborne,  and  he  observed  many 
changes  had  taken  place  in  the  disposition  of  the  furni 
ture  and  the  draperies.  He  noted,  too,  with  a  feeling 
of  helpless  exasperation,  that  his  own  portrait  hung  on 
the  wall  in  close  proximity  to  that  of  Rita  Claiborne. 
He  clenched  his  hands  with  inward  rage.  "  What  does 
this  she-devil  mean  ?  "  he  asked  himself,  and  at  that 
moment,  the  object  of  his  anger  swept  into  the  room. 
There  was  something  gracious,  as  well  as  graceful,  in 
her  movements.  She  had  the  air  of  a  victor  who  is  will 
ing  to  be  magnanimous. 

"  What  is  your  business  with  me  ?  "  she  asked  with 
lifted  eyebrows.  There  was  just  the  shadow  of  a  smile 
hovering  around  her  mouth.  Silas  caught  it,  and  look 
ing  into  a  swinging  mirror  opposite,  he  saw  how  impos 
sible  it  was  for  a  man  with  a  weazened  face  and  a  skull- 
oap  to  cope  with  such  a  woman  as  this.  However,  he 

F  221  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

had  his  indignation,  his  sense  of  persecution,  to  fall  back 
upon. 

"  I  want  to  know  what  you  intend  to  do,"  said  Silas. 
There  was  a  note  of  weakness  and  helplessness  in  his 
voice.  "  I  want  to  know  what  to  expect.  I'm  tired  of 
leading  a  dog's  life.  I  hear  you  have  been  colloguing 
with  lawyers." 

"  Do  you  remember  your  first  visit  here?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Claiborne  very  sweetly.  If  she  was  an  enemy,  she 
certainly  knew  how  to  conceal  her  feelings.  "  Do  you 
remember  how  wildly  you  talked — how  insulting  you 
were  ?  " 

"  I  declare  to  you  on  my  honour  that  I  never  intended 
to  insult  you,"  Silas  exclaimed. 

"  Why,  all  your  insinuations  were  insulting.  You 
gave  me  to  understand  that  my  coming  here  was  an  out 
rage — as  if  you  had  anything  to  do  with  my  movements. 
But  you  insisted  that  my  coming  here  was  an  attack 
on  you  and  your  son.  When  and  where  and  how  did  I 
ever  do  you  a  wrong?  " 

"Why  didn't  you— didn't— "  Silas  tried  hard  to 
formulate  his  wrongs,  but  they  were  either  so  many  or 
so  few  that  words  failed  him. 

"  Did  I  desert  you  when  you  were  ill  and  delirious  ? 
Did  I  put  faith  in  an  anonymous  letter  and  believe  you 
to  be  dead  ?  "  The  lady  spoke  with  a  calmness  that 
seemed  to  be  unnatural  and  unreal. 

For  a  little  while,  Silas  made  no  reply,  but  sat  like 
one  dazed,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  cra}^on  portrait  of  him 
self.  "  Did  you  hang  that  thing  up  there  for  Paul  to 

[  222  I 


SILAS    TOMLIN   FINDS   TROUBLE 

see  it  and  ask  questions  about  it?  "  he  asked,  after  awhile. 

"  I  hung  it  there  because  I  chose  to,"  she  replied. 
"  Judge  Vardeman  thinks  it  is  a  very  good  likeness  of 
you,  but  I  don't  agree  with  him.  Do  you  think  it  does 
you  justice?  "  she  asked. 

"  And  then  there's  Paul,"  said  Silas,  ignoring  her 
question.  "  Do  you  propose  to  let  him  go  ahead  and 
fall  in  love  with  the  girl?  " 

"  Paul  is  not  my  son,"  the  lady  calmly  answered. 

"  But  the  girl  is  your  daughter,"  Silas  insisted. 

"  I  shall  look  after  her  welfare,  never  fear,"  said  the 
lady. 

"  But  suppose  they  should  take  a  notion  to  marry ; 
what  would  you  do  to  stop  'em?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  that  is  a  question  for  the  future,"  replied 
the  lady,  serenely.  "  It  will  be  time  enough  to  discuss 
that  matter  when  the  necessity  arises." 

Her  composure,  her  indifference,  caused  Silas  to 
writhe  and  squirm  in  his  chair,  and  she,  seeing  the  torture 
she  was  inflicting,  appeared  to  be  very  well  content. 

"  I  didn't  come  to  argue,"  said  Silas  presently.  "  I 
came  for  information ;  I  want  to  know  what  you  intend 
to  do.  I  don't  ask  any  favours  and  I  don't  want  any; 
I'm  getting  my  deserts,  I  reckon.  What  I  sowed  that 
I'm  reaping." 

"  Ah !  "  the  lady  exclaimed  softly,  and  with  an  air  of 
satisfaction.  "  Do  you  really  feel  so?  "  She  leaned  for 
ward  a  little,  and  there  was  that  in  her  eyes  that  de 
noted  something  else  besides  satisfaction;  compassion 
shone  there.  Her  mood  had  not  been  a  serious  one  up 

[  223  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

to  this  point,  but  she  was  serious  now,  and  Silas  could 
but  observe  how  beautiful  she  was.  "  Do  you  really  feel 
that  I  would  be  justified  if  I  confirmed  the  suspicions 
you  have  expressed?  " 

"  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you'd  be  doing  exactly 
right,"  said  Silas  bluntly.  "  But  what  about  Paul?  " 

"  Well,  what  about  Paul?  "  Mrs.  Claiborne  asked. 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  he's  never  done  you  any  harm. 
And  there's  another  thing,"  said  Silas  rising  from  his 
seat :  "  I'd  be  willing  to  have  my  body  pulled  to  pieces, 
inch  by  inch,  and  my  bones  broken,  piece  by  piece,  to 
save  that  boy  one  single  pang." 

He  stood  towering  over  the  lady.  For  once  he  had 
been  taken  clean  out  of  himself,  and  he  seemed  to  be 
transfigured.  Mrs.  Claiborne  rose  also. 

"  Paul  is  a  very  good  young  man,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  he  is !  "  exclaimed  Silas.  "  He  never  had  a 
mean  thought,  and  he  has  never  been  guilty  of  a  mean 
action.  But  that  would  make  no  difference  in  my  feel 
ings.  It  would  be  all  the  same  to  me  if  he  was  a  thief 
and  a  scoundrel  or  if  he  was  deformed,  or  if  he  was 
everything  that  he  is  not.  No  matter  what  he  was  or 
might  be,  I  would  be  willing  to  live  in  eternal  torment 
if  I  could  know  that  he  is  happy." 

His  face  was  not  weazened  now.  It  was  illuminated 
with  his  love  for  his  son,  the  one  passion  of  his  life,  and 
he  was  no  longer  a  contemptible  figure.  The  lady  re- 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  him,  and  wondered  how  he  could 
have  changed  himself  right  before  her  eyes,  for  cer 
tainly,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  this  was  not  the  mean  and 

[  224  1 


SILAS    TOMLIN   FINDS   TROUBLE 

shabby  figure  she  had  found  in  the  parlour  when  she  first 
came  in.     She  sighed  as  she  turned  her  eyes  away. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  I  told  you  on  the  occasion 
of  your  first  visit  ?  "  she  inquired  very  seriously.  "  You 
were  both  rude  and  disagreeable,  but  I  said  that  I'd  not 
trouble  you  again,  so  long  as  you  left  me  alone." 

"  Well,  haven't  I  left  you  alone?  "  asked  Silas. 

"What  do  you  call  this?"  There  was  just  the 
shadow  of  a  smile  on  her  face. 

"  That's  a  fact,"  said  Silas  after  a  pause.  "  But  I 
just  couldn't  help  myself.  Honestly  I'm  sorry  I  came. 
I'm  no  match  for  you.  I  must  bid  you  good-night.  I 
hardly  know  what's  come  over  me.  If  I've  worried  you, 
I'm  truly  sorry." 

"  One  of  these  days,"  she  said  very  kindly,  as  she 
accompanied  him  to  the  door,  "  I'll  send  for  you.  At 
the  proper  time  I'll  give  you  some  interesting  news." 

"  Well,  I  hope  it  will  be  good  news ;  if  so,  it  will  be 
the  first  I  have  heard  in  many  a  long  day.  Good-night." 

The  lady  closed  the  door,  and  returned  to  the  parlour 
and  sat  down.  "  Why,  I  thought  he  was  a  cold-blooded, 
heartless  creature,"  she  said  to  herself.  Then,  after 
some  reflection  she  uttered  an  exclamation  and  clasped 
her  hands  together.  Suppose  he  were  to  make  way  with 
himself!  The  bare  thought  was  enough  to  keep  the 
smiles  away  from  the  face  of  this  merry-hearted  lady 
for  many  long  minutes.  Finally,  she  caught  a  glimpse 
of  herself  in  the  swinging  mirror.  She  snapped  her 
fingers  at  her  reflection,  saying,  "  Pooh !  I  wouldn't 
give  that  for  your  firmness  of  purpose !  " 

[    225  ] 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 


Rhody  Has  Something  to  Say 

JN  OW,  all  this  time,  while  the  mother  was  engaged  with 
Silas,  Eugenia,  the  daughter,  was  having  an  experi 
ence  of  her  own.  When  Rhody,  Silas  Tomlin's  cook  and 
housekeeper,  discovered  that  Paul  had  left  the  house 
in  a  fit  of  anger,  she  knew  at  once  that  something  un 
usual  had  occurred,  and  her  indignation  against  Silas 
Tomlin  rose  high.  She  was  familiar  with  every  peculi 
arity  of  Paul's  character,  and  she  was  well  aware  of 
the  fact  that  behind  his  calm  and  cool  bearing,  which 
nothing  ever  seemed  to  ruffle,  was  a  heart  as  sensitive 
and  as  tender  as  that  of  a  woman,  and  a  temper  hot, 
obstinate  and  unreasonable  when  aroused. 

So,  without  taking  time  to  serve  Silas's  supper,  she 
went  in  search  of  Paul.  She  went  to  the  store  where  he 
was  the  chief  clerk,  but  the  doors  were  closed ;  she  went 
to  the  tavern,  but  he  was  not  to  be  seen ;  and  she  walked 
along  the  principal  streets,  where  sometimes  the  young 
men  strolled  after  tea.  There  she  met  a  negro  woman, 
who  suggested  that  he  might  be  at  the  Gaither  Place. 
"  Humph !  "  snorted  Rhody,  "  how  come  dat  ain't  cross 
my  mind?  But  ef  he's  dar  dis  night,  cf  he  run  ter  dat 

226 


RHODY    HAS    SOMETHING    TO    SAY 

gal  when  he  in  trouble,  I  better  be  layin'  off  ter  cook 
some  weddin'  doin's." 

There  wasn't  a  backyard  in  the  town  that  Rhody 
didn't  know  as  well  as  she  knew  her  own,  and  she  stood 
on  no  ceremony  in  entering  any  of  them.  She  went  to 
the  Gaither  Place,  swung  back  the  gate,  shutting  it  after 
her  with  a  bang,  and  stalked  into  the  kitchen  as  though 
it  belonged  to  her.  At  the  moment  there  was  no  one  in 
sight  but  Mandy,  the  house-girl,  a  bright  and  good-look 
ing  mulatto. 

"  Why,  howdy,  Miss  Rhody !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
voice  that  sounded  like  a  flute.  "  What  wind  blowed  you 
in  here  ?  " 

"  Put  down  dem  dishes  an'  wipe  yo'  han's,"  said 
Rhody,  by  way  of  reply.  The  girl  silently  complied, 
expressing  no  surprise  and  betraying  no  curiosity. 
"  Now,  den,  go  in  de  house,  an'  ax  ef  Paul  Tomlin  is 
in  dar,"  commanded  Rhody.  "  Ef  he  is  des  tell  'im  dat 
Mammy  Rhody  want  tcr  see  'im." 

"  I  hope  dey  ain't  nobody  dead,"  suggested  Mandy 
with  a  musical  laugh.  "  I'm  lookin'  out  for  all  sorts  er 
trouble,  because  I've  had  mighty  funny  dreams  for  three 
nights  han'-runnin'.  Look  like  I  can  see  blood.  I  wake 
up,  I  do,  cryin'  an'  feelin'  tired  out  like  de  witches  been 
ridin'  me.  Then  I  drop  off  to  sleep,  an'  there's  the  blood, 
plain  as  my  han'." 

She  went  on  in  the  house  and  Rhody  followed  close 
at  her  heels.  She  was  determined  to  see  Paul  if  she 
could.  She  was  very  willing  for  Silas  Tomlin  to  be 
drawn  through  a  hackle;  she  was  willing  to  see  murder 

[  227  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

done  if  the  whites  were  to  be  the  victims;  but  Paul — • 
well,  according  to  her  view,  Paul  was  one  of  a  thousand. 
She  had  given  him  suck;  she  had  fretted  and  worried 
about  him  for  twenty  years ;  and  she  couldn't  break  off 
her  old  habits  all  at  once.  She  had  listened  to  and  in 
dorsed  the  incendiary  doctrines  of  the  radical  emissary 
I  who  pretended  to  be  representing  the  government;  she 
had  wept  and  shouted  over  the  strenuous  pleadings  of 
the  Rev.  Jeremiah;  but  all  these  things  were  wholly 
apart  from  Paul.  And  if  she  had  had  the  remotest  idea 
that  they  affected  his  interests  or  his  future,  she  would 
have  risen  in  the  church  and  denounced  the  carpet-bag 
ger  and  his  scalawag  associates,  and  likewise  the  Rev. 
Jeremiah. 

When  Mandy,  closely  followed  by  Rhody,  went  into 
the  house,  she  heard  voices  in  the  parlour,  but  Eugenia 
was  in  the  sitting-room  reading  by  the  light  of  a  lamp. 

"Miss  Genia,"  said  the  girl,  "is  Mr.  Paul  here?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask?  "  inquired  Eugenia. 

"  They-all  cook  wanter  speak  with  him."  At  this 
moment,  Eugenia  saw  the  somewhat  grim  face  of  Rhody 
peering  over  the  girl's  shoulder. 

"  Paul  isn't  here,"  said  the  young  lady,  rising  with 
a  vague  feeling  of  alarm.  "What  is  the  matter?" 
And  then,  feeling  that  if  there  was  any  trouble,  Rhody 
would  feel  freer  to  speak  when  they  were  alone  together, 
Eugenia  dismissed  Mandy,  and  followed  to  see  that  the 
girl  went  out.  "  Now,  what  is  the  trouble,  Rhody  ?  Mr. 
Silas  Tomlin  is  in  the  parlour  talking  to  mother." 

Rhody  opened  her  eyes  wide  at  this.  "  He  in  dar? 
[  228  1 


RHODY    HAS    SOMETHING    TO    SAY 

What  de  name  er  goodness  he  doin'  here?  "  Eugenia 
didn't  know,  of  course,  and  said  so.  "  Well,  he  ain't 
atter  no  good,"  Rhody  went  on ;  "  you  kin  put  dat  down 
in  black  an'  white.  Dat  man  is  sho'  ter  leave  a  smutty 
track  wharsomever  he  walk  at.  You  better  watch  'im; 
you  better  keep  yo'  eye  on  'im.  Is  he  yever  loant  yo' 
ma  any  money  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  replied  Eugenia,  laughing  at  the  ab 
surdity  of  the  question.  "  What  put  that  idea  in  your 
head?" 

"  Bekaze  dat's  his  business — loanin'  out  a  little  dab 
er  money  here  an'  a  little  dab  dar,  an'  gittin'  back  double 
de  dab  he  loant,"  said  Rhody.  "  Deyer  folks  in  dis 
county,  which  he  loant  um  money,  an'  now  he  got  all 
de  prop'ty  dey  yever  had ;  an'  deyer  folks  right  here  in 
dis  town,  which  he  loant  um  dat  ar  Conferick  money 
when  it  want  wuff  much  mo  dan  shavin's,  an'  now  dey 
got  ter  pay  'im  back  sho  miff  money.  I  hear  'im  sesso. 
Oh,  dat's  him  !  dat's  Silas  Tomlin  up  an'  down.  You 
kin  take  a  thrip  an'  squeeze  it  in  yo'  han'  tell  it  leave 
a  print,  an'  hoi'  it  up  whar  folks  kin  see  it,  an'  dar  you 
got  his  pictur' ;  all  it'll  need  will  be  a  frame.  He  done 
druv  Paul  'way  fum  home." 

She  spoke  with  some  heat,  and  really  went  further 
than  she  intended,  but  she  was  swept  away  by  her  indig 
nation.  She  was  certain,  knowing  Paul  as  well  as  she 
did,  that  he  had  left  the  house  in  a  fit  of  anger  at  some 
thing  his  father  had  said  or  done  and  she  was  equally 
as  certain  that  he  would  have  to  be  coaxed  back. 

"  Surely  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Eugenia.  "  It  is 
[  229  I 


GABRIEL    TOL LIVER 

too  ridiculous.  Why,  Paul — Mr.  Paul  is "  She 

paused  and  stood  there  blushing. 

"  Go  on,  chile :  say  it  out ;  don't  be  shame  er  me. 
Nobody  can't  say  nothin'  good  'bout  dat  boy  but  what 
I  kin  put  a  lots  mo'  on  what  dey  er  tellin'.  Silas  Tom- 
lin  done  tol'  me  out'n  his  own  mouf  dat  Paul  went  fum 
de  house  vowin'  he'd  never  come  back." 

Eugenia  was  so  sure  that  Rhody  (after  her  kind  and 
colour)  was  exaggerating,  that  she  refused  to  be  dis 
turbed  by  the  statement.  "  Why  did  you  come  here 
hunting  for  Paul?  "  the  young  lady  asked. 

"  Oh,  go  away,  Miss  Genia !  "  exclaimed  Rhody,  laugh 
ing.  "  'Tain't  no  needs  er  my  answerin'  dat,  kaze  you 
know  lots  better'n  I  does." 

"  Are  you  very  fond  of  him?  "  Eugenia  inquired. 

"  Who — me?  Why,  honey,  I  raised  'im.  Sick  er 
well,  I  nussed  'im  fer  long  years.  I  helt  'im  in  deze  arms 
nights  an'  nights,  when  all  he  had  ter  do  fer  ter  leave 
dis  vale  wuz  ter  fetch  one  gasp  an'  go.  Ef  his  daddy 
had  done  all  dat,  he  wouldn't  'a'  druv  de  boy  fum  home." 

Alas !  how  could  Rhody,  in  her  ignorance  and  blind 
ness,  probe  the  recesses  of  a  soul  as  reticent  as  that  of 
Silas  Tomlin? 

"  Oh,  don't  say  he  was  driven  from  home ! "  cried 
Eugenia,  rising  and  placing  a  hand  on  Rhody's  arm. 
"  If  you  talk  that  way,  other  people  will  take  it  up,  and 
it  won't  be  pleasant  for  Paul." 

"  Dat  sho  is  a  mighty  purty  han',"  exclaimed  Rhody 
enthusiastically,  ignoring  the  grave  advice  of  the  young 
woman.  "  I'm  gwinc  ter  show  somebody  de  place  whar 

f  230  1 


RHODY    HAS    SOMETHING    TO    SAY 

you  laid  it,  an'  I  bet  you  he'll  wanter  cut  de  cloff  out 
an'  put  it  in  his  alvum." 

Eugenia  made  a  pretence  of  pushing  Rhody  out  of 
the  room,  but  she  was  blushing  and  smiling.  "  Well'm, 
he  ain't  here,  sho,  an'  here's  whar  he  oughter  be;  but 
I'll  fin'  'im  dis  night  an'  ef  he  ain't  gwine  back  home, 
J  ain't  gwine  back — you  kin  put  dat  down."  With  that, 
she  bade  the  young  lady  good-night,  and  went  out. 

As  Rhody  passed  through  the  back  gate,  she  chanced 
to  glance  toward  Pulaski  Tomlin's  house,  and  saw  a  light 
shining  from  the  library  window.  "  Ah-yi !  "  she  ex 
claimed,  "  he's  dar,  an'  dey  ain't  no  better  place  fer  'im. 
Dey's  mo'  home  fer  'im  right  dar  den  dey  yever  wus  er 
yever  will  be  whar  he  live  at." 

So  saying,  she  turned  her  steps  in  the  direction  of 
Neighbour  Tomlin's.  In  the  kitchen,  she  asked  if  Paul 
was  in  the  house.  The  cook  didn't  know,  but  when  the 
house-girl  came  out,  she  said  that  Mr.  Paul  was  there, 
and  had  been  for  some  time.  "  Deyer  holdin'  a  reg'lar 
expeuncc  meetin'  in  dar,"  she  said.  "  Miss  Fanny  sho 
is  a  plum  sight !  " 

The  house-girl  went  in  again  to  say  that  Rhody  would 
like  to  speak  with  him,  and  Rhody,  as  was  her  custom, 
followed  at  her  heels. 

"  Come  in,  Rhody,"  said  Miss  Fanny.  "  I  know  you 
are  there.  You  always  send  a  message,  and  then  go 
along  with  it  to  see  if  it  is  delivered  correctly.  'Twould 
save  a  great  deal  of  trouble  if  the  rest  of  us  were  to 
adopt  your  plan." 

"  I  hope  you  all  is  well,"  remarked  Rhody,  as  she 
[  231  I 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

made  her  appearance.  "  I  declar',  Miss  Fanny,  you 
look  good  enough  to  eat." 

"  Well,  I  do  eat,"  responded  Miss  Fanny,  teasingly. 

"  I  mean  you  look  good  enough  ter  be  etted,"  said 
Rhody,  correcting  herself. 

"  Now,  that  is  what  I  call  a  nice  compliment,"  Miss 
Fanny  observed  complacently.  "  Brother  Pulaski,  if  I 
am  ever  '  etted  '  you  won't  have  to  raise  a  monument  to 
my  memory." 

"  No  wonder  you  look  young,"  laughed  Rhody. 
"  Anybody  what  kin  git  fun  out'n  a  graveyard  is  bleeze 
ter  look  young." 

Paul  was  lying  on  the  wide  lounge  that  was  one  of 
the  features  of  the  library.  His  eyes  were  closed,  and 
his  Aunt  Fanny  was  gently  stroking  his  hair.  Pulaski 
Tomlin  leaned  back  in  an  easy  chair,  lazily  enjoying 
a  cigar,  the  delicate  flavour  of  which  filled  the  room. 
There  was  something  serene  and  restful  in  the  group,  in 
the  furniture,  in  all  the  accessories  and  surroundings. 
The  negro  woman  turned  around  and  looked  at  every 
thing  in  the  room,  as  if  trying  to  discover  what  produced 
the  effect  of  perfect  repose. 

It  is  the  rule  that  everything  beautiful  and  precious 
in  this  world  should  have  mystery  attached  to  it.  There 
is  the  enduring  mystery  of  art,  the  mystery  that  endows 
plain  flesh  and  blood  with  genius.  A  little  child  draws 
you  by  its  beauty;  there  is  mystery  unfathomable  in 
its  eyes.  You  enter  a  home,  no  matter  how  fine,  no  mat 
ter  how  humble;  it  may  be  built  of  logs,  and  its  fur 
nishings  may  be  of  the  poorest;  but  if  it  is  a  home,  a 

f  232  ] 


RHODY    HAS    SOMETHING    TO    SAY 

real  home,  you  will  know  it  unmistakably  the  moment  you 
step  across  the  threshold.  Some  subtle  essence,  as  mys 
terious  as  thought  itself,  will  find  its  way  to  your  mind 
and  enlighten  your  instinct.  You  will  know,  however 
fine  the  dwelling,  whether  the  spirit  of  home  dwells  there. 

Rhody,  as  she  looked  around  in  the  vain  effort  to  get 
a  clew  to  the  secret,  wondered  why  she  always  felt  so 
comfortable  in  this  house.  She  sighed  as  she  seated  her 
self  on  the  floor  at  the  foot  of  the  lounge  on  which  Paul 
lay.  This  was  her  privilege.  If  Miss  Fanny  could  sit 
at  his  head,  Rhody  could  sit  at  his  feet. 

"  You  wanted  to  speak  to  Paul,"  suggested  Miss 
Fanny. 

"  Yes'm ;  he  lef '  de  house  in  a  huff,  an'  I  wanter  know 
ef  he  gwine  back — kaze  ef  he  ain't,  I'm  gwineter  move 
way  fum  dar.  He  ain't  take  time  f er  ter  git  his  supper." 

"  Why,  Paul !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Fanny. 

"  I  couldn't  eat  a  mouthful  to  save  my  life,"  said  Paul. 

"  Whar  Miss  Margaret?"  Rhody  inquired;  and  she 
seemed  pleased  to  hear  that  the  young  lady  was  spending 
the  night  with  Nan  Dorrington.  "  Honey,"  she  said  to 
Paul,  "  how  come  yo'  pa  went  ter  de  Gaither  Place  ter- 
night  ?  What  business  he  got  dar  ?  " 

This  was  news  to  Paul,  and  he  could  make  no  reply 
to  Rhody's  question.  He  reflected  over  the  matter  a  little 
while.  "  Was  he  really  there?  "  he  asked  finally. 

"  I  hear  'im  talkin'  in  de  parlour,  an'  Miss  Genia  say 
it's  him." 

"  What  were  you  doing  there  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Fanny, 
pushing  her  jaunty  grey  curls  behind  her  ears. 

[   233   1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  A  coloured  'oman  recommen'  me  ter  go  dar  ef  I 
wan'  ter  fin'  dat  chile." 

"  Why,  Paul !  And  is  the  wind  really  blowing  in  that 
quarter?  "  cried  Miss  Fanny,  leaning  over  and  kissing 
him  on  the  forehead. 

"  Now,  Mammy  Rhody,  why  did  you  do  that?  "  Paul 
asked  with  considerable  irritation.  "  What  will  Miss 
Eugenia  and  her  mother  think  ?  "  He  sat  bolt  upright 
on  the  sofa. 

"  Well,  her  ma  ain't  see  me,  an'  Miss  Genia  look  like 
she  wuz  sorry  I  couldn't  fin'  you  dar." 

Miss  Fanny  laughed,  but  Rhody  was  perfectly  serious. 
"  Miss  Fanny,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  lady,  "  how  come 
dat  chile  lef  home?" 

"  Shall  I  tell  her,  Paul?  I  may  as  well."  Whereupon 
she  told  the  negro  woman  the  cause  of  Paul's  anger,  and 
ended  by  saying  that  she  didn't  blame  him  for  showing 
the  spirit  of  a  Southern  gentleman. 

"  Well,  he'll  never  j'ine  de  'Publican  Party  in  dis 
county,"  Rhody  declared  emphatically. 

"  He  will  if  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  do  so.  You 
don't  know  Silas,"  said  Miss  Fanny. 

"  Who — me?  Me  not  know  dat  man?  Huh!  I  know 
'im  better'n  he  know  hisse'f ;  an'  I  know  some  yuther 
folks,  too.  I  tell  you  right  now,  he'll  never  j'ine;  an' 
ef  you  don't  believe  me,  you  wait  an'  see.  Time  I  git 
thoo  wid  his  kaycter,  de  'Publicans  won't  tetch  'im  wid 
a  ten-foot  pole." 

"  I  hope  you  are  right,"  said  Pulaski  Tomlin,  speak 
ing  for  the  first  time.  "  There's  enough  trouble  in 

r  234  i 


RHODY    HAS    SOMETHING    TO    SAY 

the  land  without  having  a  scalawag  in  the  Tomlin 
family." 

"  Well,  you  nee'ntcr  worry  'bout  dat,  kaze  I'll  sho 
put  a  stop  ter  dem  kinder  doin's.  Honey,"  Rhody  went 
on,  addressing  Paul,  "  you  come  on  home  when  you  git 
sleepy;  I'm  gwineter  set  up  fer  you,  an'  ef  you  don't 
come,  yo'  pa  '11  hatter  cook  his  own  vittles  ter-morrer 
mornin'." 

"  Good-night,  Rhody,  and  pleasant  dreams,"  said  Miss 
Fanny,  as  the  negro  woman  started  out. 

"  I  dunner  how  anybody  kin  have  pleasin'  drams  ef 
dey  sleep  in  de  same  lot  wid  Marse  Silas,"  replied  Rhody. 
«  Good-night  all." 

Now,  the  cook  at  the  Tomlin  Place  was  the  wife  of  the 
Rev.  Jeremiah.  She  was  a  tall,  thin  woman,  some  years 
older  than  her  husband,  and  she  ruled  him  with  a  rod 
of  iron.  The  new  conditions,  combined  with  the  insidi 
ous  flattery  of  the  white  radicals,  had  made  her  vicious 
against  the  whites.  Rhody  knew  this,  and  from  the  "  big 
house,"  she  went  into  the  kitchen,  where  Mrs.  Jeremiah 
was  cleaning  up  for  the  night.  Her  name  was  Patsy. 

"  You  gittin'  mighty  thick  wid  dc  white  folks,  Sis' 
Rhody,"  said  Patsy,  pausing  in  her  work,  as  the  other 
entered  the  door. 

For  answer,  Rhody  fell  into  a  chair,  held  both  hands 
high  above  her  head,  and  then  let  them  drop  in  her  lap. 
The  gesture  was  effective  for  a  dozen  interpretations. 
"  Well !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  then  paused,  Patsy  watch 
ing  her  narrowly  the  while.  "  I  dunner  how  'tis  wid  you, 
Sis'  Patsy,  but  wid  me,  it's  live  an'  1'arn — live  an'  1'arn. 

[  235  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

An'  I'm  a-larnin',  mon,  spite  cr  de  fack  dat  de  white 
folks  think  niggers  ain't  got  no  sense." 

"  Dey  does !  Dey  does !  "  exclaimed  Patsy.  "  Dey 
got  de  idee  dat  we  all  ain't  got  no  mo'  sense  dan  a  passel 
er  fryin'-size  chickens.  But  dey'll  fin'  out  better,  an' 
den — Ah-h-h !  "  This  last  exclamation  was  a  hoarse  gut- 
teral  cry  of  triumph. 

"  You  sho  is  talkin'  now !  "  cried  Rhody,  with  an  ad 
miring  smile.  "  I  knows  it  ter-night,  ef  I  never  is  know'd 
it  befo'." 

Patsy  knew  that  some  disclosure  was  coming,  and  she 
invited  it  by  putting  Rhody  on  the  defensive.  "  It's 
de  trufe,"  she  declared.  "  Dat  what  make  me  feel  so 
quare,  Sis'  Rhody,  when  I  see  you  so  ready  fer  ter 
collogue  wid  de  white  folks.  I  wuz  talkin'  wid  Jerry 
'bout  it  no  longer'n  las'  night.  Yes'm,  I  wuz.  I  say, 
'  Jerry,  what  de  matter  wid  Sis'  Rhody  ?  '  He  say, 
'  Which  away,  Pidgin  ?  ' — desso ;  he  allers  call  me  Pid 
gin,"  explained  Patsy,  with  a  smile  of  pride.  "  I  say, 
'  By  de  way  she  colloguin'  wid  de  white  folks.' ' 

"  What  Br'er  Jerry  say  ter  dat?  "  inquired  Rhody. 

"  He  des  shuck  his  head  an'  groan,"  was  the  reply. 

Rhody  leaned  forward  with  a  frown  that  was  almost 
tragic  in  its  heaviness,  and  spoke  in  a  deep,  unnatural 
tone  that  added  immensely  to  the  emphasis  of  her  words. 
"  'Oman,  lemme  tell  you :  I  done  it,  an'  I'm  glad  I  done 
it;  an'  you'll  be  glad  I  done  it;  an'  he'll  be  glad  I  done 
it."  Patsy  was  drying  the  dish-pan  with  a  towel,  but 
suspended  operations  the  better  to  hear  what  Rhody  had 
to  say.  "  Dey  done  got  it  fixt  up  fer  ol'  Silas  ter  j'ine 

[  236  1 


RHODY    HAS    SOMETHING    TO    SAY 

in  wid  de  'Publican  Party.  He  gwineter  j'ine  so  he  kin 
fin'  out  all  der  doin's,  an'  all  der  comin's  an'  der  gwines, 
so  he  kin  tell  de  yuthers." 

"  Huh !  Oh,  yes — yes,  yes,  yes !  Oh,  yes !  We  er 
fools ;  we  ain't  got  no  sense !  "  cackled  Patsy  viciously. 

"  He  des  gwineter  make  out  he's  a  'Publican,"  Rhody 
went  on;  "  dey  got  it  all  planned.  He  gwineter  j'ine 
de  Nunion  League,  an'  git  all  de  names.  Dey  talk  'bout 
it,  Sis'  Patsy,  right  befo'  my  face  an'  eyes.  Dey  mus' 
take  me  fer  a  start-natchel  fool." 

"  Dey  does — dey  does !  "  cried  Patsy ;  "  dey  takes  us 
all  fer  fools.  But  won't  dey  be  a  wakin'  up  when  de 
time  come?  " 

Then  and  there  was  given  the  death-blow  to  Silas  Tom- 
lin's  ambition  to  become  a  Republican  politician.  The 
Rev.  Jeremiah  was  apprised  of  the  plan,  which  so  far  as 
Rhody  was  concerned,  was  a  pure  invention.  Word  went 
round,  and  when  Silas  put  in  his  application  to  become 
a  member  of  the  Union  League,  he  was  informed  that 
orders  had  come  from  Atlanta  that  no  more  members 
were  to  be  enrolled. 

When  Rhody  went  out  into  the  street,  after  her  talk 
with  Patsy,  a  passer-by  would  have  said  that  her  actions 
were  very  queer.  She  leaned  against  the  fence  and  went 
into  convulsions  of  silent  laughter.  "  Oh,  I  wish  I  wuz 
some'rs  whar  I  could  holler,"  she  said  aloud  between 
gasps.  "  He  calls  her  '  Pidgin ! '  Pidgin !  Ef  she's  a 
pidgin,  Pd  like  ter  know  what  gone  wid  de  cranes !  " 

She  recurred  to  this  name  some  weeks  afterward,  when 
the  Rev.  Jeremiah  informed  her  confidentially  that  his 

f  237  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

wife  had  discovered  Silas  Tomlin's  plan  to  unearth  the 
secrets  of  the  Union  League.  Rhody's  comment  some 
what  surprised  the  Rev.  Jeremiah.  "  I  allers  thought," 
she  said  with  a  laugh,  "  dat  Pidgin  had  sump'n  else  in 
her  craw  'sides  corn." 

Rhody  waited  in  the  kitchen  that  night  until  Paul  re 
turned,  and  then  she  went  to  bed.  Silas  and  his  son  were 
up  earlier  than  usual  the  next  morning,  but  they  found 
breakfast  ready  and  waiting.  The  attitude  of  father 
and  son  toward  each  other  was  constrained  and  reserved. 
Silas  felt  that  he  must  certainly  say  something  to  Paul 
about  Eugenia  Claiborne.  He  hardly  knew  how  to  be 
gin,  but  at  last  he  plunged  into  the  subject  with  the  same 
shivering  sense  of  fear  displayed  by  a  small  boy  who 
is  about  to  jump  into  a  pond  of  cold  water — dreading 
it,  and  yet  determined  to  take  a  header. 

"  I  hear,  Paul,"  he  began,  "  that  you  are  very  atten 
tive  to  Eugenia  Claiborne." 

"  I  call  on  her  occasionally,"  said  Paul.  "  She  is  a 
very  agreeable  young  lady."  Me  spoke  coolly,  but  the 
blood  mounted  to  his  face. 

"  So  I  hear — so  I  hear,"  remarked  Silas  in  a  business 
like  way.  "  Still,  I  hope  you  won't  carry  matters  too 
far." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  Paul  inquired. 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  into  particulars ;  I  wish  I  could 
tell  you  exactly  what  I  mean,  but  I  can't,"  said  Silas. 
"  All  I  can  say  is  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  you 
to  marry  the  young  woman.  My  Lord !  "  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  saw  Paul  close  his  jaws  together.  "  Ain't  there 
no  other  woman  in  the  world  ?  " 

f   238    ] 


RHODY    HAS    SOMETHING    TO    SAY 

"  Do  you  know  anything  against  the  young  lady's 
character?  "  the  son  asked. 

"  Nothing,  absolutely  nothing,"  was  the  response. 

"  Well,"  said  Paul,  "  I  hadn't  considered  the  question 
of  marriage  at  all,  but  since  you've  brought  the  subject 
up,  we  may  as  well  discuss  it.  You  say  it  will  be  impos 
sible  for  me  to  marry  this  young  lady,  and  you  refuse 
to  tell  me  why.  Don't  you  think  I  am  old  enough  to  be 
trusted?" 

"  Why,  certainly,  Paul — of  course ;  but  there  are 
some  things — "  Silas  paused,  and  caught  his  breath, 
and  then  went  on.  "  Honestly,  Paul,  if  I  could  tell 
you,  I  would ;  I'd  be  glad  to  tell  you ;  but  this  is  a  mat 
ter  in  which  you  will  have  to  depend  on  my  judgment. 
Can't  you  trust  me  ?  " 

"  Just  as  far  as  you  can  trust  me,  but  no  farther," 
was  the  reply.  "  I'm  not  a  child.  In  a  few  months  I'll 
be  of  age.  But  if  I  were  only  ten  years  old,  and  knew 
the  young  lady  as  well  as  I  know  her  now,  you  couldn't 
turn  me  against  her  by  insinuations."  He  rose,  shook 
himself,  walked  the  length  of  the  room  and  back  again, 
and  stood  close  to  his  father.  "  You've  already  settled 
the  question  of  marriage.  I  asked  you  last  night  about 
the  report  that  you  intended  to  act  with  the  radicals, 
and  you  refused  to  give  me  a  direct  answer.  That  means 
that  the  report  is  true.  Do  you  suppose  that  Eugenia 
Claiborne,  or  any  other  decent  woman  would  marry  the 
son  of  a  scalawag?  "  he  asked  with  a  voice  full  of  pas 
sion.  "  Why,  she'd  spit  in  his  face,  and  I  wouldn't  blame 
her." 

[  289  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

The  young  man  went  out,  leaving  Silas  sitting  at  the 
table.  "  Lord !  I  hate  to  hurt  him,  but  he'd  better  be 
dead  than  to  marry  that  girl." 

Rhody,  who  was  standing  in  the  entryway  leading 
from  the  dining-room  to  the  kitchen,  and  who  had  over 
heard  every  word  that  passed  between  father  and  son, 
entered  the  room  at  this  moment,  exclaiming : 

"  Well,  you  des  ez  well  call  'im  dead  den,  kaze  marry 
her  he  will,  an'  I  don't  blame  'im;  an'  mo'n  dat  I'll 
he'p  'im  all  I  can." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are .  talking  about," 
said  Silas,  wiping  his  lips,  which  were  as  dry  as  a 
bone. 

"  Maybe  I  does,  an'  maybe  I  don't,"  replied  Rhody. 
"  But  what  I  does  know,  I  knows  des  ez  good  ez  any 
body.  You  say  dat  boy  sha'n't  marry  de  gal;  but  how 
come  you  courtin'  de  mammy  ?  " 

"  Doing  what?  "  cried  Silas,  pushing  his  chair  back 
from  the  table. 

"  Courtin'  de  mammy,"  answered  Rhody,  in  a  loud 
voice.  "  You  wuz  dar  las'  night,  an'  fer  all  I  know  you 
wuz  dar  de  night  befo',  an'  de  night  'fo'  dat.  You 
may  fool  some  folks,  but  you  can't  fool  me." 

"  Courting !  Why  you  blasted  idiot !  I  went  to  see 
her  on  business." 

Rhody  laughed  so  heartily  that  few  would  have  de 
tected  the  mockery  in  it.  "  Business!  Yasser;  it's  busi 
ness,  an'  mighty  funny  business.  Well,  ef  you  kin  git 
her,  you  take  her.  Ef  she  don't  lead  you  a  dance,  I  ain't 
name  Rhody." 

[   240  ] 


RHODY    HAS    SOMETHING    TO    SAY 

"  I  believe  you've  lost  what  little  sense  you  used  to 
have,"  said  Silas  with  angry  contempt. 

"  I  notice  dat  nobody  roun'  here  ain't  f  oun'  it,"  re 
marked  Rhody,  retiring  to  the  kitchen  with  a  waiter  full 
of  dishes. 


t  241    ] 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 


The  Knights  of  the  White  Camellia 

1TJ.ATTERS  have  changed  greatly  since  those  days, 
and  all  for  the  better.  The  people  of  the  whole  country 
understand  one  another,  and  there  is  no  longer  any  sec 
tional  prejudice  for  the  politicians  to  feed  and  grow  fat 
upon.  But  in  the  days  of  reconstruction  everything  was 
at  white  heat,  and  every  episode  and  every  development 
appeared  to  be  calculated  to  add  to  the  excitement.  In 
all  this,  Shady  Dale  had  as  large  a  share  as  any  other 
community.  The  whites  had  witnessed  many  political 
outrages  that  seemed  to  have  for  their  object  the  renewal 
of  armed  resistance.  And  it  is  impossible,  even  at  this 
late  day,  for  any  impartial  person  to  read  the  debates 
in  the  Federal  Congress  during  the  years  of  1867-68 
without  realising  the  awful  fact  that  the  prime  movers  in 
the  reconstruction  scheme  (if  not  the  men  who  acted  as 
their  instruments  and  tools)  were  intent  on  stirring  up 
a  new  revolution  in  the  hope  that  the  negroes  might  be 
prevailed  upon  to  sack  cities  and  towns,  and  destroy  the 
white  population.  This  is  the  only  reasonable  inference ; 
no  other  conceivable  conclusion  can  explain  the  wild  and 
whirling  words  that  were  uttered  in  these  debates:  un- 

[   242    1 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE   WHITE    CAMELLIA 

less,  indeed,  some  charitable  investigator  shall  establish 
the  fact  that  the  radical  leaders  were  suffering  from  a 
sort  of  contagious  dementia. 

It  is  all  over  and  gone,  but  it  is  necessary  to  recall 
the  facts  in  order  to  explain  the  passionate  and  blind 
resistance  of  the  whites  of  the  South  and  their  hatred 
of  everything  that  bore  the  name  or  earmarks  of  Re 
publicanism.  Shady  Dale,  in  common  with  other  com 
munities,  had  witnessed  the  assembling  of  a  convention 
to  frame  a  new  constitution  for  the  State.  This  body 
was  well  named  the  mongrel  convention.  It  was  made 
up  of  political  adventurers  from  Maine,  Vermont,  and 
other  Northern  States,  and  boasted  of  a  majority  com 
posed  of  ignorant  negroes  and  criminals.  One  of  the 
most  prominent  members  had  served  a  term  in  a  North 
ern  penitentiary.  The  real  leaders,  the  men  in  whose 
wisdom  and  conservatism  the  whites  had  confidence,  were 
disqualified  from  holding  office  by  the  terms  of  the  recon 
struction  acts,  and  the  convention  emphasised  and 
adopted  the  policy  of  the  radical  leaders  in  Washington 
— a  policy  that  was  deliberately  conceived  for  the  pur 
pose  of  placing  the  governments  of  the  Southern  States 
in  the  hands  of  ignorant  negroes  controlled  by  men  who 
had  no  interest  whatever  in  the  welfare  of  the  people. 

But  this  was  not  all,  nor  half.  When  the  military 
commandant  who  had  charge  of  affairs  in  Georgia,  found 
that  the  State  government  established  under  the  terms 
of  Mr.  Lincoln's  plan  of  reconstruction,  had  no  idea  of 
paying  the  expenses  of  the  mongrel  convention  out  of 
Jie  State's  funds,  he  issued  an  order  removing  the  Gov- 
[  213  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

ernor  and  Treasurer,  and  "  detailed  for  duty  as  Gover 
nor  of  Georgia,"  one  of  the  members  of  his  staff. 

The  mongrel  convention,  which  would  have  been  run 
out  of  any  Northern  State  in  twenty-four  hours,  had  pro 
vided  for  an  election  to  be  held  in  April,  1868,  for  the 
ratification  or  rejection  of  the  new  constitution  that  had 
been  framed,  and  for  the  election  of  Governor  and  mem 
bers  of  the  General  Assembly.  Beginning  on  the  20th, 
the  election  was  to  continue  for  three  days,  a  provision 
that  was  intended  to  enable  the  negroes  to  vote  at  as 
many  precincts  as  they  could  conveniently  reach  in 
eighty-three  hours.  ^No  safeguard  whatever  was  thrown 
around  the  ballot-box,  and  it  was  the  remembrance  of 
this  initial  and  overwhelming  combination  of  fraud  ,and 
corruption  that  induced  the  whites,  at  a  later  day,  to 
stuff  the  ballot-boxes  and  suppress  the  votes  of  the  ig- 
norant.y 

These  things,  with  the  hundreds  of  irritating  incidents 
and  episodes  belonging  to  the  unprecedented  conditions, 
gradually  worked  up  the  feelings  of  the  whites  to  a  very 
high  pitch  of  exasperation.  The  worst  fears  of  the  most 
timid  bade  fair  to  be  realised,  for  the  negroes,  certain 
of  their  political  supremacy,  sure  of  the  sympathy  and 
support  of  Congress  and  the  War  Department,  and  filled 
with  the  conceit  produced  by  the  flattery  and  caj  olery  of 
the  carpet-bag  sycophants,  were  beginning  to  assume  an 
attitude  which  would  have  been  threatening  and  offensive 
if  their  skins  had  been  white  as  snow. 

Gabriel  was  now  old  enough  to  appreciate  the  situa 
tion  as  it  existed,  though  he  never  could  bring  himself 

r  244  i 


KNIGHTS   OF   THE   WHITE  CAMELLIA 

to  believe  that  there  were  elements  of  danger  in  it.  He 
knew  the  negroes  too  well ;  he  was  too  familiar  with  their 
habits  of  thought,  and  with  their  various  methods  of 
accomplishing  a  desired  end.  But  he  was  familiar  with 
the  apprehensions  of  the  community,  and  made  no  effort 
to  put  forward  his  own  views,  except  in  occasional  con 
versations  with  Meriwether  Clopton.  After  a  time,  how 
ever,  it  became  clear,  even  to  Gabriel,  that  something 
must  be  done  to  convince  the  misguided  negroes  that  the 
whites  were  not  asleep. 

He  conformed  himself  to  all  the  new  conditions  with 
the  ready  versatility  of  youth.  He  studied  hard  both 
night  and  day,  but  he  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time 
in  the  open  air.  It  was  perhaps  fortunate  for  him  at 
this  time  that  there  was  a  lack  of  formality  in  his  meth 
ods  of  acquiring  knowledge.  He  had  no  tutor,  but  his 
line  of  study  was  mapped  out  for  him  by  Meriwether 
Clopton,  who  was  astonished  at  the  growing  appetite  of 
the  lad  for  knowledge — an  appetite  that  seemed  to  be 
insatiable. 

What  he  most  desired  to  know,  however,  he  made  no 
inquiries  about.  He  ached,  as  Mrs.  Absalom  would  have 
said,  to  know  why  he  had  suddenly  come  to  be  afraid 
of  Nan  Dorrington.  He  had  been  somewhat  shy  of  her 
before,  but  now,  in  these  latter  days,  he  was  absolutely 
afraid  of  her.  He  liked  her  as  well  as  ever,  but  some 
how  he  became  panic-stricken  whenever  he  found  himself 
in  her  company,  which  was  not  often. 

It  was  impossible  that  his  desire  to  avoid  her  should 
fail  to  be  observed  by  Nan,  and  she  found  a  reason  for 

F  245  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

it  in  the  belief  that  Gabriel  had  discovered  in  some  way 
that  she  was  in  the  closet  with  Tasma  Tid  the  night  the 
Union  League  had  been  organised.  Nan  would  never 
have  known  what  a  crime — this  was  the  name  she  gave 
the  escapade — what  a  crime  she  had  committed  but  for 
the  shock  it  gave  her  step-mother.  This  lady  had  been 
trained  and  educated  in  a  convent,  where  every  rule  of 
propriety  was  emphasised  and  magnified,  and  most  rig 
idly  insisted  upon. 

One  day,  when  Nan  was  returning  home  from  the  vil 
lage,  she  saw  Gabriel  coming  directly  toward  her.  She 
studied  the  ground  at  her  feet  for  a  considerable  dis 
tance,  and  when  she  looked  up  again  Gabriel  was  gone; 
he  had  disappeared.  This  episode,  insignificant  though 
it  was,  was  the  cause  of  considerable  worry  to  Nan.  She 
gave  Mrs.  Dorrington  the  particulars,  and  then  asked 
her  what  it  all  meant. 

"  Why  should  it  mean  anything?  "  that  lady  asked 
with  a  laugh. 

"  Oh,  but  it  must  mean  something,  Johnny.  Gabriel 
has  avoided  me  before,  and  I  have  avoided  him,  but  we 
have  each  had  some  sort  of  an  excuse  for  it.  But  this 
time  it  is  too  plain." 

"  What  silly  children !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dorrington, 
with  her  cute  French  accent. 

Nan  went  to  a  window  and  looked  out,  drumming  on 
a  pane.  Outside  everything  seemed  to  be  in  disorder. 
The  flowers  were  weeds,  and  the  trees  were  not  beautiful 
any  more.  Even  the  few  birds  in  sight  were  all  dressed 
in  drab.  What  a  small  thing  can  change  the  world  for 
us! 

246 


KNIGHTS   OF  THE   WHITE    CAMELLIA 

"  I  know  why  he  hid  himself,"  Nan  declared  from  the 
window.  "  He  has  found  out  that  I  was  in  the  closet  with 
Tasma  Tid."  How  sad  it  was  to  be  compelled  to  realise 
the  awful  responsibilities  that  rest  as  a  burden  upon  Girls 
who  are  Grown! 

"  Well,  you  were  there,"  replied  Mrs.  Dorrington, 
"  and  since  that  is  so,  why  not  make  a  joke  of  it? 
Gabriel  has  no  squeamishness  about  such  things." 

"  Then  why  should  he  act  as  he  does  ?  "  Nan  was  about 
to  break  down. 

"  Well,  he  has  his  own  reasons,  perhaps,  but  they  are 
not  what  you  think.  Oh,  far  from  it.  Gabriel  knows 
as  well  as  I  do  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  you  to 
do  anything  very  wrong." 

"  Oh,  but  it  isn't  impossible,"  Nan  insisted:  "  I  feel 
wicked,  and  I  know  I  am  wicked.  If  Gabriel  Tolliver 
ever  dares  to  find  out  that  I  was  in  that  closet,  I'll  tell 
him  what  I  think  of  him,  and  then  I'll—  Her  threat 
was  never  completed.  Mrs.  Dorrington  rose  from 
her  chair  just  in  time  to  place  her  hand  over  Nan's 
mouth. 

"  If  you  were  to  tell  Gabriel  what  you  really  think 
of  him,"  said  the  lady,  "  he  would  have  great  astonish 
ment." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  wouldn't,  Johnny.  You  don't  know  how 
conceited  Gabriel  is.  I'm  just  ready  to  hate  him." 

"  Well,  it  may  be  good  for  your  health  to  dislike  him 
a  little  occasionally,"  remarked  Mrs.  Dorrington,  with 
a  smile. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  mean  by  that,  Johnny  ?  "  cried 
[  247  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Nan.  But  the  only  reply  she  received  was  an  eloquent 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

Gabriel  was  as  much  mystified  by  his  own  dread  of 
meeting  Nan,  as  he  was  by  her  coolness  toward  him.  He 
could  not  recall  any  incident  which  she  had  resented; 
but  still  she  was  angry  with  him.  Well,  if  it  was  so, 
so  be  it ;  and  though  he  thought  it  was  cruel  in  his  old 
comrade  to  harbour  hard  thoughts  against  him,  he  never 
sought  for  an  explanation.  He  had  his  own  world  to 
fall  back  upon — a  world  of  books,  the  woods  and  the 
fields.  And  he  was  far  from  unhappiness ;  for  no  hu 
man  being  who  loves  Nature  well  enough  to  understand 
and  interpret  its  meaning  and  its  myriad  messages  to 
his  own  satisfaction,  can  be  unhappy  for  any  length  of 
time.  Whatever  his  losses  or  his  disappointments,  he 
can  make  them  all  good  by  going  into  the  woods  and 
fields  and  taking  Nature,  the  great  comforter,  by  the 
hand. 

So  Gabriel  confined  his  communications  for  the  most 
part  to  his  old  and  ever-faithful  friends,  the  woods  and 
the  velvety  Bermuda  fields.  He  walked  about  among 
these  old  friends  with  a  lively  sense  of  their  vitality  and 
their  fruitfulness.  He  was  certain  that  the  fields  knew 
him  as  well  as  he  knew  them — and  as  for  the  trees,  he 
had  a  feeling  that  they  knew  his  name  as  well  as  he 
knew  theirs.  He  was  so  familiar  with  some  of  them, 
and  they  with  him,  that  the  katydids  in  the  branches 
continued  their  cries  even  while  he  was  leaning  against 
the  trunks  of  the  friends  of  his  childhood:  whereas,  if 
a  stranger  or  an  alien  to  the  woods  had  so  much  as  laid 

[  248  ] 


KNIGHTS   OF  THE    WHITE  CAMELLIA 

the  tip  of  his  little  finger  on  the  rugged  bark  of  one  of 
them,  a  shuddering  signal  would  have  been  sent  aloft, 
and  the  cries  would  have  ceased  instantly. 

Gabriel's  grandmother  went  to  bed  early  and  rose  early 
• — a  habit  that  belongs  to  old  age.  But  it  was  only  after 
the  darkness  and  silence  of  night  had  descended  upon 
the  world  that  all  of  Gabriel's  faculties  were  alert.  It 
was  his  favourite  time  for  studying  and  reading,  and  for 
walking  about  in  the  woods  and  fields,  especially  when 
the  weather  was  too  warm  for  study.  Every  Sunday 
night  found  him  in  the  Bermuda  fields,  long  since  de 
serted  by  Nan  and  Tasma  Tid.  To  think  of  the  old 
days  sometimes  brought  a  lump  in  his  throat;  but  the 
skies,  and  the  constellations  (in  their  season)  remained, 
and  were  as  fresh  and  as  beautiful  as  when  they  looked 
down  in  pity  on  the  sufferings  of  Job. 

Gabriel's  favourite  Bermuda  field  was  crowned  by  a 
hill,  which,  gradually  sloping  upward,  commanded  a  fine 
view  of  the  surrounding  country ;  and  though  it  was 
close  to  Shady  Dale,  it  was  a  lonely  place.  Here  the 
killdees  ran,  and  bobbed  their  heads,  and  uttered  their 
plaintive  cries  unmolested;  here  the  partridge  could 
raise  her  brood  in  peace ;  and  here  the  whippoorwill  was 
free  to  play  upon  his  flute. 

Many  and  many  a  time,  while  sitting  on  this  hill,  Ga 
briel  had  watched  the  village-lights  go  out  one  by  one 
till  all  was  dark ;  and  the  silence  seemed  to  float  heaven 
ward,  and  fall  again,  and  shift  and  move  in  vast  undu 
lations,  keeping  time  to  a  grand  melody  which  the  soul 
could  feel  and  respond  to,  but  which  the  ear  could  not 

F  249  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

hear.  And  at  such  time,  Gabriel  believed  that  in  the 
slow-moving  constellations,  with  their  glittering  trains, 
could  be  read  the  great  secrets  that  philosophers  and 
scientists  are  searching  for. 

Beyond  the  valley,  still  farther  away  from  the  town, 
was  the  negro  church,  of  which  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  Tom- 
lin  was  the  admired  pastor.  Ordinarily,  there  were  ser 
vices  in  this  church  three  times  a  week,  unless  one  of  the 
constantly  recurring  revivals  was  in  progress,  and  then 
there  were  services  every  night  in  the  week,  and  some 
times  all  night  long.  The  Rev.  Jeremiah  was  a  preacher 
who  had  lung-power  to  spare,  and  his  voice  was  well  cal 
culated  to  shatter  our  old  friend  the  welkin,  so  dear  to 
poets  and  romancers.  But  if  there  was  no  revival  in 
progress,  the  nights  devoted  to  prayer-meetings  were 
mainly  musical,  and  the  songs,  subdued  by  the  distance, 
floated  across  the  valley  to  Gabriel  with  entrancing 
sweetness. 

One  Wednesday  night,  when,  the  political  conditions 
were  at  their  worst,  Gabriel  observed  that  while  the  lights 
were  lit  in  the  church,  there  was  less  singing  than  usual. 
This  attracted  his  attention  and  then  excited  his  curios 
ity.  Listening  more  intently,  he  failed  to  hear  the  sound 
of  a  single  voice  lifted  in  prayer,  in  song  or  in  preach 
ing.  The  time  was  after  nine  o'clock,  and  this  silence 
was  so  unusual  that  Gabriel  concluded  to  investigate. 

He  made  his  way  across  the  valley,  and  was  soon  within 
car-shot  of  the  church.  The  pulpit  was  unoccupied, 
but  Gabriel  could  see  that  a  white  man  was  standing  in 
front  of  it.  The  inference  to  be  drawn  from  his  move- 

f  250  ] 


KNIGHTS    OF  THE  WHITE    CAMELLIA 

ments  and  gestures  was  that  he  was  delivering  an  address 
to  the  negroes.  Hotchkiss  was  standing  near  the  speaker, 
leaning  in  a  familiar  way  on  one  of  the  side  projections 
of  the  pulpit.  Gabriel  knew  Hotchkiss,  but  the  man 
who  was  speaking  was  a  stranger.  He  was  flushed  as 
with  wine,  and  appeared  to  have  no  control  of  his  hands, 
for  he  flung  them  about  wildly. 

Gabriel  crept  closer,  and  climbed  a  small  tree,  in  the 
hope  that  he  might  hear  what  the  stranger  was  saying, 
but  listen  as  he  might,  no  sound  of  the  stranger's  voice 
came  to  Gabriel.  The  church  was  full  of  negroes,  and  a 
strange  silence  had  fallen  on  them.  He  marvelled  some 
what  at  this,  for  the  night  was  pleasant,  and  every  win 
dow  was  open.  The  impression  made  upon  the  young 
fellow  was  very  peculiar.  Here  was  a  man  flinging  his 
arms  about  in  the  heat  and  ardour  of  argument  or  exhor 
tation,  and  yet  not  a  sound  came  through  the  windows. 

Suddenly,  while  Gabriel  was  leaning  forward  trying 
in  vain  to  hear  the  words  of  the  speaker,  a  tall,  white 
figure,  mounted  on  a  tall  white  horse,  emerged  from  the 
copse  at  the  rear  of  the  church.  At  the  first  glance,  Ga 
briel  found  it  difficult  to  discover  what  the  figures  were, 
but  as  horse  and  rider  swerved  in  the  direction  of  the 
church,  he  saw  that  both  were  clad  in  white  and  flowing 
raiment.  While  he  was  gazing  with  all  his  eyes,  another 
figure  emerged  from  the  copse,  then  another,  and  an 
other,  until  thirteen  white  riders,  including  the  leader, 
had  come  into  view.  Following  one  another  at  intervals, 
they  marched  around  the  church,  observing  the  most 
profound  silence.  The  hoofs  of  their  horses  made  no 

[  251  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

sound.  Three  times  this  ghostly  procession  marched 
around  the  church.  Finally  they  paused,  each  horseman 
at  a  window,  save  the  leader,  who,  being  taller  than  the 
rest,  had  stationed  himself  at  the  door. 

He  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  "  Brothers,  is 
all  well  with  you?  "  his  voice  was  strong  and  sonorous. 

"  All  is  not  well,"  replied  twelve  voices  in  chorus. 

"  What  do  you  see?  "  the  impressive  voice  of  the  leader 
asked. 

"  Trouble,  misery,  blood !  "  came  the  answering  chorus. 

"Blood?"  cried  the  leader. 

"  Yes,  blood !  "  was  the  reply. 

"Then  all  is  well!" 

"  So  mote  it  be !  All  is  well !  "  answered  twelve  voices 
in  chorus. 

Once  more  the  ghostly  procession  rode  round  and 
round  the  church,  and  then  suddenly  disappeared  in  the 
darkness.  Gabriel  rubbed  his  eyes.  For  an  instant  he 
believed  that  he  had  been  dreaming.  If  ever  there  were 
goblins,  these  were  they.  The  figures  on  horseback  were 
so  closely  draped  in  white  that  they  had  no  shape  but 
height,  and  their  heads  and  hands  were  not  in  view. 

It  may  well  be  believed  that  the  sudden  appearance  and 
disappearance  of  these  apparitions  produced  consterna 
tion  in  the  Rev.  Jeremiah's  congregation.  The  stranger 
who  had  been  addressing  them  was  left  in  a  state  of  col 
lapse.  The  only  person  in  the  building  who  appeared 
to  be  cool  and  sane  was  the  man  Hotchkiss.  The  negroes 
sat  paralysed  for  an  instant  after  the  white  riders  had 
disappeared — but  only  for  an  instant,  for,  before  you 

[  252  ] 


KNIGHTS   OF  THE  WHITE   CAMELLIA 

could  breathe  twice,  those  in  the  rear  seats  made  a  rush 
for  the  door.  This  movement  precipitated  a  panic,  and 
the  entire  congregation  joined  in  a  mad  effort  to  escape 
from  the  building.  The  Rev.  Jeremiah  forgot  the  dig 
nity  of  his  position,  and,  umbrella  in  hand,  emerged 
from  a  window,  bringing  the  upper  sash  with  him. 
Benches  were  overturned,  and  wild  shrieks  came  from  the 
women.  The  climax  came  when  five  pistol-shots  rang 
out  on  the  air. 

Gabriel,  in  his  tree,  could  hear  the  negroes  running, 
their  feet  sounding  on  the  hard  clay  like  the  furious 
scamper  of  a  drove  of  wild  horses.  Years  afterward,  he 
could  afford  to  laugh  at  the  events  of  that  night,  but, 
at  the  moment,  the  terror  of  the  negroes  was  contagious, 
and  he  had  a  mild  attack  of  it. 

The  pistol-shots  occurred  as  the  Rev.  Jeremiah 
emerged  from  the  window,  and  were  evidently  in  the  nat 
ure  of  a  signal,  for  before  the  echoes  of  the  reports 
had  died  away,  the  white  horsemen  came  into  view  again, 
and  rode  after  the  fleeing  negroes.  Gabriel  did  not  wit 
ness  the  effect  of  this  movement,  but  it  came  near  driving 
the  fleeing  negroes  into  a  frenzy.  The  white  riders  paid 
little  attention  to  the  mob  itself,  but  selected  the  Rev. 
Jeremiah  as  the  object  of  their  solicitude. 

He  had  bethought  him  of  his  dignity  when  he  had 
gone  a  few  hundred  steps,  and  found  he  was  not  pur 
sued,  and,  instead  of  taking  to  the  woods,  as  most  of 
his  congregation  did,  he  kept  to  the  public  road.  Before 
he  knew  it,  or  at  least  before  he  could  leave  the  road, 
he  found  himself  escorted  by  the  entire  band.  Six  rode 

[  253  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

on  each  side,  and  the  leader  rode  behind  him.  Once  he 
started  to  run,  but  the  white  riders  easily  kept  pace  with 
him,  their  horses  going  in  a  comfortable  canter.  When 
he  found  that  escape  was  impossible,  he  ceased  to  run. 
He  would  have  stopped,  but  when  he  tried  to  do  so  he 
felt  the  hot  breath  of  the  leader's  horse  on  the  back 
of  his  neck,  and  the  sensation  was  so  unexpected  and 
so  peculiar,  that  the  frightened  negro  actually  thought 
that  a  chunk  of  fire,  as  he  described  it  afterward,  had 
been  applied  to  his  head.  So  vivid  was  the  impression 
made  on  his  mind  that  he  declared  that  he  had  actually 
seen  the  flame,  as  it  circled  around  his  head;  and  he 
maintained  that  the  back  of  his  head  would  have  been 
burned  off  if  "  de  fier  had  been  our  kind  er  fier." 

Finding  that  he  could  not  escape  by  running,  he  be 
gan  to  walk,  and  as  he  was  a  man  of  great  fluency  of 
speech,  he  made  an  effort  to  open  a  conversation  with 
his  ghostly  escort.  He  was  perspiring  at  every  pore,  and 
this  fact  called  for  a  frequent  use  of  his  red  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

"  Blood !  "  cried  the  leader,  and  twelve  voices  repeated 
the  word. 

"  Bosses — Marsters!  What  is  I  ever  done  to  you?  " 
To  this  there  was  no  reply.  "  I  ain't  never  hurted  none 
er  you-all;  I  ain't  never  had  de  idee  er  harmin'  you. 
All  I  been  doin'  for  dis  long  time,  is  ter  try  ter  fetch  sin 
ners  ter  de  mercy-seat.  Dat's  all  I  been  doin',  an'  dat's 
all  I  wanter  do — I  tell  you  dat  right  now."  Still  there 
was  no  response,  and  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  made  bold  to 
take  a  closer  look  at  the  riders  who  were  within  range 

[  254  ] 


KNIGHTS    OF   THE  WHITE    CAMELLIA 

of  his  vision.  He  nearly  sunk  in  his  tracks  when  he 
saw  that  each  one  appeared  to  be  carrying  his  head 
under  his  arm.  "  Name  er  de  Lord !  "  he  cried ;  "  who 
is  you-all  anyhow  ?  an'  what  you  gwineter  do  wid  me  ?  " 

Silence  was  the  only  answer  he  received,  and  the  si 
lence  of  the  riders  was  more  terrifying  than  their  talk 
would  have  been.  "  Ef  you  wanter  know  who  been  tryin' 
fer  ter  'casion  trouble,  I  kin  tell  you,  an'  dat  mighty 
quick."  But  apparently  the  white  riders  were  not  seek 
ing  for  information.  They  asked  no  questions,  and  the 
perspiration  flowed  more  freely  than  ever  from  the  Rev. 
Jeremiah's  pores.  Again  his  red  handkerchief  came 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  again  the  rider  behind  him  cried 
out  "  Blood !  "  and  the  others  repeated  the  word. 

The  Rev.  Jeremiah,  in  despair,  caught  at  what  he 
thought  was  the  last  straw.  "  Ef  you-all  think  dey's 
blood  on  dat  hankcher,  you  mighty  much  mistooken. 
'Twuz  red  in  de  sto',  long  'fo'  I  bought  it,  an'  ef  dey's 
any  blood  on  it,  I  ain't  put  it  dar — I'll  tell  you  dat 
right  now." 

But  there  was  no  answer  to  his  protest,  and  the  ghostly 
cortege  continued  to  escort  him  along  the  road.  The 
white  riders  went  with  him  through  town  and  to  the  Tom- 
lin  Place.  Once  there,  each  one  filed  between  him  and 
the  gate  he  was  about  to  enter,  and  the  last  word  of  each 
was  "  Beware !  " 


255  ] 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 


Major  Tomlin  Perdue  Arrives 

GrABRIEL  was  struck  by  the  fact  that  Hotchkiss 
seemed  to  be  undisturbed  by  the  events  that  had  startled 
and  stampeded  the  negroes  and  the  white  stranger.  He 
remained  in  the  church  for  some  time  after  the  others 
were  gone,  and  he  showed  no  uneasiness  whatever.  He 
had  seated  himself  on  one  of  the  deacons'  chairs  near 
the  pulpit,  and,  with  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  ap 
peared  to  be  lost  in  thought.  After  awhile — it  seemed 
to  be  a  very  long  time  to  Gabriel — he  rose,  put  on  his 
hat,  blew  out  one  by  one  the  lamps  that  rested  in  sconces 
along  the  wall,  and  went  out  into  the  darkness. 

Gabriel  had  remained  in  the  tree,  and  with  good  rea 
son.  He  knew  that  whoever  fired  the  pistol,  the  reports 
of  which  added  so  largely  to  the  panic  among  the 
negroes,  was  very  close  to  the  tree  where  he  had  hid 
himself,  and  so  he  waited,  not  patiently,  perhaps,  but 
with  a  very  good  grace.  When  Hotchkiss  was  out  of 
sight,  and  presumably  out  of  hearing,  Gabriel  heard 
some  one  calling  his  name.  He  made  no  answer  at  first, 
but  the  call  was  repeated  in  a  tone  sufficiently  loud  to 
leave  no  room  for  mistake. 

f  256    I 


MAJOR     TOM LIN     PERDUE 

"  Tolliver,  where  are  you  ?  If  you're  asleep,  wake 
up  and  show  me  a  near-cut  to  town." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  Gabriel  asked. 

"  One,"  replied  the  other. 

"  I  don't  know  your  voice,"  said  Gabriel ;  "  how  did 
you  know  me  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  secret  that  belongs  to  the  Knights  of  the 
White  Camellia,"  answered  the  unknown.  "  If  you 
don't  come  down,  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  shake  you  out 
of  that  tree.  Can't  you  slide  down  without  hurting 
your  feelings  ?  " 

Gabriel  slid  down  the  trunk  of  the  small  tree  as 
quickly  as  he  could,  and  found  that  the  owner  of  the 
voice  was  no  other  than  Major  Tomlin  Perdue,  of  Hal- 
cyondale. 

"  You  didn't  expect  to  find  me  roosting  around  out 
here,  did  you?  "  the  irrepressible  Major  asked,  as  he  shook 
Gabriel  warmly  by  the  hand.  "  Well,  I  fully  expected  to 
find  you.  Your  grandmother  told  me  an  hour  ago  that 
I'd  find  you  mooning  about  on  the  hills  back  there.  I 
didn't  find  you  because  I  didn't  care  to  go  about  bawl 
ing  your  name;  so  I  came  around  by  the  road.  I  was 
loafing  around  here  when  you  came  up,  and  I  knew  it 
was  you,  as  soon  as  I  heard  you  slipping  up  that  tree. 
But  that  hill  business,  and  the  mooning — how  about 
them?  You're  in  love,  I  reckon.  Well,  I  don't  blame 
you.  She's  a  fine  gal,  ain't  she?  " 

"Who?"  inquired  Gabriel. 

"Who!"  cried  Major  Perdue,  mockingly.  "Why, 
there's  but  one  gal  in  the  Dale.  You  know  that  as  well 

I  257   1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

as  I  do.  She  never  has  had  her  match,  and  she'll  never 
have  one.  And  it's  funny,  too;  no  matter  which  way 
you  spell  her  first  name,  backwards  or  forwards,  it  spells 
the  same.  Did  you  ever  think  of  that,  Tolliver?  But 
for  Vallic — you  know  my  daughter,  don't  you? — I 
never  would  have  found  it  out  in  the  world." 

Gabriel  laughed  somewhat  sheepishly,  wondering  all 
the  time  how  Major  Perdue  could  think  and  talk  of  such 
trivial  matters,  in  the  face  of  the  spectacle  they  had  just 
witnessed. 

"Well,  you  deserve  good  luck,  my  boy,"  the  Major 
went  on.  "  Everybody  that  knows  you  is  singing  your 
praises — some  for  your  book-learning,  some  for  your 
modesty,  and  some  for  the  way  you  ferreted  out  the 
designs  of  that  fellow  who  was  last  to  leave  the  church." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  deserve  any  praise,"  protested 
Gabriel. 

"  Continue  to  feel  that  way,  and  you'll  get  all  the 
more,"  observed  the  Major,  sententiously.  "But  for 
you  these  dirty  thieves  might  have  got  the  best  of  us. 
Why,  we  didn't  know,  even  at  Halcyondale,  what  was 
up  till  we  got  word  of  your,  discovery.  Well,  sir,  as  soon 
as  we  found  out  what  was  going  on,  we  got  together,  and 
wiped  'em  up.  Why,  you've  got  the  pokiest  crowd 
over  here  I  ever  heard  of.  They  just  sit  and  sun  them 
selves,  and  let  these  white  devils  do  as  they  please.  When 
they  do  wake  up,  the  white  rascals  will  be  gone,  and  then 
they'll  take  their  spite  out  of  the  niggers — and  the  nig 
gers  ain't  no  more  to  blame  for  all  this  trouble  than  a 
parcel  of  two-year-old  children.  You  mark  my  words: 

F  258  1 


MAJOR     TOMLIN     PERDUE 

the  niggers  will  suffer,  and  these  white  rascals  will  go 
scot-free.  Why  don't  the  folks  here  wake  up?  They 
can't  be  afraid  of  the  Yankee  soldiers,  can  they  ?  Why 
the  Captain  here  is  a  rank  Democrat  in  politics,  and  a 
right  down  clever  fellow." 

"  He  is  a  clever  gentleman,"  Gabriel  assented.  "  I 
have  met  him  walking  about  in  the  woods,  and  I  like  him 
very  much.  He  is  a  Kentuckian,  and  he's  not  fond  of 
these  carpet-baggers  and  scalawags  at  all.  But  I  never 
told  anybody  before  that  he  is  a  good  friend  of  mine. 
You  know  how  they  are,  especially  the  women — they 
hate  everything  that's  clothed  in  blue." 

"  Well,  by  George !  you  are  the  only  person  in  the 
place  that  keeps  his  eyes  open,  and  finds  out  things. 
You  saw  that^ascal  talking  to  the  niggers  awhile  ago, 
didn't  you?/ Well,  he's  the  worst  of  the  lot.  He  has 
been  preaching  his  social  equality  doctrine  over  in  our 
town,  but  I  happened  to  run  across  him  t'other  day,  and 
I  laid  the  law  down  to  him.  I  told  him  I'd  give  him 
twenty-four  hours  to  get  out  of  town.  He  stayed  the 
limit;  but  when  he  saw  me  walk  downtown  with  my 
shot-gun,  he  took  a  notion  that  I  really  meant  business, 
and  he  lit  out.  Minervy  Ann  found  out  where  he  was 
headed  for,  and  I've  followed  him  over  here.  He's  the 
worst  of  the  lot,  and  they're  all  rank  poison.^\ 

Major  Perdue  paused  a  moment  in  his  talk/ as  if  re 
flecting.  "  Can  you  keep  a  secret,  Tolliver?  "  he  asked 
after  awhile. 

"  Well,  I  haven't  had  much  practice,  Major,  but  if  it 
is  important,  I'll  do  my  best  to  keep  it." 

[   259  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  so  important.  That  fellow  you  saw 
talking  to  the  negroes  awhile  ago  is  named  Bridalbin." 

"  Bridalbin !  "  exclaimed  Gabriel. 

"  Yes ;  he  goes  by  some  other  name,  I've  forgotten 
what.  He  used  to  hang  around  Malvern  some  years 
before  the  war,  and  a  friend  of  mine  who  lived  there 
knew  him  the  minute  he  saw  him.  He's  the  fellow  that 
married  Margaret  Gaither ;  you  remember  her ;  she  came 
home  to  die  not  so  very  long  ago.  Pulaski  Tomlin 
adopted  her  daughter,  or  became  the  girl's  guardian. 
Now,  Tolliver,  whatever  you  do,  don't  breathe  a  word 
about  this  Bridalbin — don't  mention  his  name  to  a  soul, 
not  even  to  your  grandmother.  There's  no  need  of 
worrying  that  poor  girl;  she  has  already  had  trouble 
enough  in  this  world.  I'm  telling  you  about  him  be 
cause  I  want  you  to  keep  your  eye  on  him.  He's  up 
to  some  kind  of  devilment  besides  exciting  the  niggers." 

Gabriel  promptly  gave  his  word  that  he  would  never 
mention  anything  about  Bridalbin's  name,  and  then  he 
said — "  But  this  parade — what  does  it  mean  ?  " 

The  Major  laughed.  "  Oh,  that  was  just  some  of 
the  boys  from  our  settlement.  They  are  simply  out  for 
practice.  They  want  to  get  their  hands  in,  as  the  say 
ing  is.  They  heard  I  was  coming  over,  and  so  they  fol 
lowed  along.  They  don't  belong  to  the  Kuklux  that 
you've  read  so  much  about.  A  chap  from  North  Caro 
lina  came  along  t'other  day,  and  told  about  the  Knights 
of  the  White  Camellia,  and  the  boys  thought  it  would 
*>e  a  good  idea  to  have  a  bouquet  of  their  own.  They 
have  no  signs  or  pass-words,  but  simply  a  general  agree- 

[  260  ] 


MAJOR     TOMLIN     PERDUE 

ment.  You'll  have  to  organise  something  of  that  kind 
here,  Tolliver.  Oh,  you-all  are  so  infernally  slow,  out 
here  in  the  country !  Why,  even  in  Atlanta,  they  have 
a  Young  Men's  Democratic  Club.  You've  got  to  get  a 
move  on  you.  There's  no  way  out  of  it.  The  only  way 
to  fight  the  devil  is  to  use  his  own  weapons.  The  trouble 
is  that  some  of  the  hot-headed  youngsters  want  to  hold 
the  poor  niggers  responsible,  as  I  said  just  now,  and  the 
niggers  are  no  more  to  blame  than  the  chicken  in  a  new- 
laid  egg.  Don't  forget  that,  Tolliver.  I  wouldn't  give 
my  old  Minervy  Ann  for  a  hundred  and  seventy-five 
thousand  of  these  white  thieves  and  rascals;  and  Jerry 
Tomlin,  fool  as  he  is,  is  more  of  a  gentleman  than  any 
of  the  men  who  have  misled  him." 

They  walked  back  to  the  village  the  way  Gabriel  had 
come.  On  top  of  the  Bermuda  hill,  Major  Perdue 
paused  and  looked  toward  Shady  Dale.  Lights  were 
still  twinkling  in  some  of  the  houses,  but  for  the  most 
part  the  town  was  in  darkness. 

The  Major  waved  his  hand  in  that  direction,  remark 
ing,  "  That's  what  makes  the  situation  so  dangerous, 
Tolliver — the  women  and  the  children.  Here,  and  in 
hundreds  of  communities,  and  in  the  country  places  all 
about,  the  women  and  children  are  in  bed  asleep,  or  they 
are  laughing  and  talking,  with  only  dim  ideas  of  what 
is  going  on.  It  looks  to  me,  my  son,  as  if  we  were  be 
tween  the  devil  and  the  deep  blue  sea.  I,  for  one,  don't 
believe  that  there's  any  danger  of  a  nigger-rising.  But 
look  at  the  other  side.  I  may  be  wrong;  I  may  be  a 
crazy  old  fool  too  fond  of  the  niggers  to  believe  they're 

[261  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

really  mean  at  heart.  Suppose  that  such  men  as  this 
— ah,  now  I  remember! — this  Boring — that  is  what 
Bridalbin  calls  himself  now — suppose  that  such  men  as 
he  were  to  succeed  in  what  they  are  trying  to  do?  I 
don't  believe  they  will,  even  if  we  took  no  steps  to  pre 
vent  it;  but  then  there's  the  possibility — and  we  can't 
afford  to  take  any  chances." 

Gabriel  agreed  with  all  this  very  heartily.  He  was 
glad  to  feel  that  his  own  views  were  also  those  of  this 
keen,  practical,  hard-headed  man  of  the  world. 

"  But  men  of  my  sort  will  be  misjudged,  Tolliver," 
pursued  the  Major;  "  violent  men  will  get  in  the  saddle, 
and  outrages  will  be  committed,  and  injustice  will  be 
done.  Public  opinion  to  the  north  of  us  will  say  that 
the  old  fire-eaters,  who  won't  permit  even  a  respectable 
white  man  to  insult  them  with  impunity — the  old  slave- 
drivers — are  trying  to  destroy  the  coloured  race.  But 
you  will  live,  my  son,  to  see  some  of  these  same  radicals 
admit  that  all  the  injustice  and  all  the  wrong  is  due  to 
the  radical  policy." 

This  prophecy  came  true.  Time  has  abundantly  vin 
dicated  the  Major  and  those  who  acted  with  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Maj  or  Perdue  went  on  musingly,  "  in- 
justice  will  be  done.  The  fact  is,  it  has  already  begun 
in  some  quarters.  Be  switched  if  it  doesn't  look  like  you 
can't  do  right  without  doing  wrong  somewhere  on  the 
road." 

Gabriel  turned  this  paradox  over  in  his  mind,  as  they 
walked  along ;  but  it  was  not  until  he  was  a  man  grown 
that  it  straightened  itself  out  in  his  mind  something  after 

[  262  ] 


MAJOR     TOMLIN     PERDUE 

this  fashion:  When  a  wrong  is  done  the  innocent  suffer 
along  with  the  guilty ;  and  the  innocent  also  suffer  in 
its  undoing. 

Shady  Dale  woke  up  the  next  morning  to  find  the 
walls  and  the  fences  in  all  public  places  plastered  with 
placards,  or  handbills,  printed  in  red  ink.  The  most 
prominent  feature  of  the  typography,  however,  was  not 
its  colour,  but  the  image  of  a  grinning  skull  and  cross- 
bones.  The  handbill  was  in  the  nature  of  a  proclama 
tion.  It  was  dated  "  Den  No.  Ten,  Second  Moon. 
Year  21,000  of  the  Dynasty."  It  read  as  follows: 

"  To  all  Lovers  of  Peace  and  Good  Order — Greeting : 
Whereas,  it  has  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  Grand 
Cyclops  that  evil-minded  white  men,  and  deluded  freed- 
men,  are  engaged  in  stirring  up  strife ;  and  whereas  it 
is  known  that  corruption  is  conspiring  with  ignorance — 

"  Therefore,  this  is  to  warn  all  and  singular  the  per 
sons  who  have  made  or  are  now  making  incendiary  prop 
ositions  and  threats,  and  all  who  are  banded  together 
in  secret  political  associations  to  forthwith  cease  their 
activity.  And  let  this  warning  be  regarded  as  an  or 
der,  the  violation  of  which  will  be  followed  by  vengeance 
swift  and  sure.  The  White  Riders  are  abroad. 

"  Thrice  endorsed  by  the  Venerable,  the  Grand  Cy 
clops,  in  behalf  of  the  all-powerful  Klan.  (.  (.  (.  K. 
K.  K.  .)  .)  .)" 

Now,  if  this  document  had  been  in  writing,  it  might 
have  passed  for  a  joke,  but  it  was  printed,  and  this  fact, 
together  with  its  grave  and  formal  style,  gave  it  the 
dignity  and  importance  of  a  genuine  proclamation  from 

[  263  ] 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

a  real  but  an  unseen  and  unknown  authority.  It  had 
the  advantage  of  mystery,  and  there  are  few  minds  on 
which  the  mysterious  fails  to  have  a  real  influence.  In 
addition  to  this,  the  spectacular  performance  at  the  Rev. 
Jeremiah's  church  the  night  before  gave  substance  to 
the  proclamation.  That  event  was  well  calculated  to 
awe  the  superstitious  and  frighten  the  timid. 

The  White  Riders  had  disappeared  as  mysteriously 
as  they  came.  Only  one  person  was  known  to  have  seen 
them  after  they  had  left  the  church — it  was  several  days 
before  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  could  be  induced  to  relate  his 
experience — and  that  person  was  Mr.  Sanders.  What 
he  claimed  to  have  witnessed  was  even  more  alarming 
than  the  brief  episode  that  occurred  at  the  Rev.  Jere 
miah's  church.  Mr.  Sanders  was  called  on  to  repeat  the 
story  many  times  during  the  next  few  weeks,  but  it  was 
observed  by  a  few  of  the  more  thoughtful  that  he  de 
scribed  what  he  had  seen  with  greater  freedom  and  vivid 
ness  when  there  was  a  negro  within  hearing.  His  nar 
rative  was  something  like  this: 

"  Gus  Tidwell  sent  arter  me  to  go  look  at  his  sick 
hoss,  an'  I  went  an'  doctored  him  the  best  I  know'd  how, 
an'  then  started  home  ag'in.  I  had  but  one  thought  on 
my  mind;  Gus  had  offered  to  pay  me  for  my  trouble 
sech  as  it  was,  an'  I  was  tryin'  for  to  figger  out  in  my 
mind  what  in  the  name  of  goodness  had  come  over  Gus. 
I  come  mighty  nigh  whirlin'  roun'  in  my  tracks,  an' 
walkin'  all  the  way  back  jest  to  see  cf  he  didn't  need  a 
little  physic.  He  was  cold  sober  at  the  time,  an'  all  of 
a  sudden,  when  he  seed  that  I  had  fetched  his  hoss 

[  264  ] 


MAJOR     TOMLIN     PERDUE 

through  a  mighty  bad  case  of  the  mollygrubs,  he  says 
to  me, '  Mr.  Sanders,'  says  he, '  you've  saved  me  a  mighty 
fine  hoss,  an'  I  want  to  pay  you  for  it.  You've  had 
mighty  hard  work ;  what  is  it  all  wuth  ?  '  '  Gus,'  says 
I,  '  jest  gi'  me  a  drink  of  cold  water  for  to  keep  me  from 
faintin',  an'  we'll  say  no  more  about  it.' 

"  Well,  I  didn't  turn  back,  though  I  was  much  of  a 
mind  to.  I  mosied  along  wondering  what  had  come  over 
Gus.  I  had  got  as  fur  on  my  way  home  as  the  big 
'simmon  tree — you-all  know  whar  that  is — when  all  of 
a  sudden,  I  felt  the  wind  a-risin'.  It  puffed  in  my  face, 
an'  felt  warm,  sorter  like  when  the  wind  blows  down  the 
chimbley  in  the  winter  time.  Then  I  heard  a  purrin' 
sound,  an'  I  looked  up,  an'  right  at  me  was  a  gang  of 
white  hosses  an'  riders.  They  was  right  on  me  before 
I  seed  'em,  an'  I  couldn't  'a'  got  out'n  the'r  way  ef  I'd 
'a'  had  the  wings  of  a  hummin'-bird.  So  I  jest  ketched 
my  breath,  an'  bowed  my  head,  an'  tried  to  say,  '  Now 
I  lay  me  down  to  sleep.'  I  couldn't  think  of  the  rest, 
an'  it  wouldn't  'a'  done  no  good  nohow.  I  cast  my  eye 
aroun',  findin'  that  I  wasn't  trompled,  an'  the  whole  ca 
boodle  was  gone.  I  didn't  feel  nothin'  but  the  wind 
they  raised,  as  they  went  over  me  an'  up  into  the  ele 
ments.  Did  you  ever  pass  along  by  a  pastur'  at  night, 
an'  hear  a  cow  fetch  a  long  sigh?  Well,  that's  jest  the 
kind  of  fuss  they  made  as  they  passed  out'n  sight." 

This  story  made  a  striking  climax  to  the  performances 
that  the  negroes  themselves  had  witnessed,  and  for  a  time 
they  were  subdued  in  their  demeanour.  They  even  be 
trayed  a  tendency  to  renew  their  old  familiar  relations 

[  265  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

with  the  whites.  The  situation  was  not  without  its 
pathetic  side,  and  if  Mr.  Sanders  professed  to  find  it  sim 
ply  humourous,  it  was  only  because  of  the  effort  which 
men  make — an  effort  that  is  only  too  successful — to 
hide  the  tenderer  side  of  their  natures.  But  the  episode 
of  the  White  Riders  soon  became  a  piece  of  history ;  the 
alarm  that  it  had  engendered  grew  cold ;  and  Hotchkiss, 
aided  by  Bridalbin,  who  called  himself  Boring,  soon  had 
the  breach  between  the  two  races  wider  than  ever. 


[  266  ] 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 


Gabriel  at  the  Big  Poplar 

IjATE  one  afternoon,  at  a  date  when  the  tension  be 
tween  the  two  races  was  at  its  worst>  Gabriel  chanced  to 
be  sitting  under  the  great  poplar  which  was  for  years, 
and  no  doubt  is  yet,  one  of  the  natural  curiosities  of 
Shady  Dale,  on  account  of  its  size  and  height.  He  had 
been  reading,  but  the  light  had  grown  dim  as  the  sun 
dipped  behind  the  hills,  and  he  now  sat  with  his  eyes 
closed.  His  seat  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  was  not  far 
from  the  public  highway,  though  that  fact  did  not  add 
to  its  attractions  from  Gabriel's  point  of  view.  He  pre 
ferred  the  seat  for  sentimental  reasons.  He  had  played 
there  when  a  little  lad,  and  likewise  Nan  had  played 
there ;  and  they  had  both  played  there  together.  The  old 
poplar  was  hollow,  and  on  one  side  the  bark  and  a  part 
of  the  trunk  had  sloughed  away.  Here  Gabriel  and  Nan 
had  played  housekeeping,  many  and  many  a  day  before 
the  girl  had  grown  tired  of  her  dolls.  The  hollow 
formed  a  comfortable  playhouse,  and  the  youngsters,  in 
addition  to  housekeeping,  had  enjoyed  little  make-be 
lieve  parties  and  picnics  there. 

As  Gabriel  sat  leaning  against  the  old  poplar,  his  back 
[267] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

to  the  road  and  his  eyes  closed,  he  heard  the  sound  of 
men's  voices.  The  conversation  was  evidently  between 
country  folk  who  had  been  spending  a  part  of  the  day 
in  town.  Turning  his  head,  Gabriel  saw  that  there  were 
three  persons,  one  riding  and  two  walking.  Directly 
opposite  the  tree  where  Gabriel  sat,  they  met  an  ac 
quaintance  who  was  apparently  making  a  belated  visit 
to  town. 

"  Hello,  boys !  "  said  the  belated  one  by  way  of  salu 
tation.  "  I  'low'd  I'd  find  you  in  town,  an'  have  com 
pany  on  my  way  home." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Sam?  "  asked  one  of  the  others. 
"  This  ain't  no  time  of  day  to  be  gwine  away  from 
home." 

"  Well,  I'm  jest  obliged  to  git  some  ammunition,"  re 
plied  Sam.  "  I've  been  off  to  mill  mighty  nigh  all  day, 
an'  this  evenin',  about  four  o'clock,  whilst  my  wife  was 
out  in  the  yard,  a  big  buck  nigger  stopped  at  the  gate, 
an'  looked  at  her.  She  took  no  notice  of  him  one  way 
or  another,  an'  presently,  he  ups  an'  says,  '  Hello,  Sissy ! 
can't  you  tell  a  feller  howdy  ?  '  " 

"  He  did?  "  cried  the  others.  Gabriel  could  hear 
L.  their  gasps  of  astonishment  and  indignation  from  where 
he  sat. 

u  He  said  them  very  words,"  replied  Sam ;  "  '  Hello, 
Sissy  !  can't  you  tell  a  feller  howdy  ?  '  " 

"  Did  you  leave  anybody  at  home?  "  inquired  one  of 
the  others. 

"  You  bet  your  sweet  life !  "  replied  Sam  in  the  slang 
of  the  day.  "  Johnny  Bivins  is  there,  an'  he  ain't  no 

[  268  ] 


GABRIEL     AT    THE     BIG     POPLAR 

slouch,  Johnny  ain't.  I  says  to  Molly,  says  I,  '  Johnny 
will  camp  here  till  I  can  run  to  town,  an'  git  me  some 
powder  an'  buckshot.'  ' 

"  We  have  some,"  one  of  the  others  suggested. 

"  Better  let  'im  go  on  an'  git  it,"  said  another ;  "  we 
can't  have  too  much  in  our  neck  of  the  woods  when  things 
look  like  they  do  now.  We'll  wait  for  you,  Sam,  if 
you'll  hurry  up." 

"  Good  as  wheat !  "  responded  Sam,  who  went  rapidly 
toward  town. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  boys,  we  didn't  make  up  our  minds 
about  this  business  a  single  minute  too  soon,"  remarked 
one  of  the  three  who  were  waiting  for  the  return  of  their 
neighbour.  "  Somethin's  got  to  be  done,  an'  the  sooner 
it's  done,  the  sooner  it'll  be  over  with." 

"  You're  talkin'  now  with  both  hands  and  tongue ! " 
declared  one  of  the  others,  in  a  tone  of  admiration. 

"  You'll  see,"  remarked  the  one  who  had  proposed  to 
wait,  "  that  Sam  is  jest  as  ripe  as  we  are.  We  know 
what  we  know,  an'  Sam  knows  what  he  knows.  I  don't 
know  as  I  blame  the  niggers  much.  Look  at  it  from 

their  side  of  the  fence.  They  see  these  d d  white 

hellians  goin'  roun',  snortin'  an'  preachin'  ag'in  the 
whites,  an'  they  see  us  settin'  down,  hands  folded  and 
eyes  shet,  and  they  jest  natchally  think  we're  whipped 
and  cowed.  Can  you  blame  'em?  I  hate  'em  all  right 
enough,  but  I  don't  blame  'em." 

Gabriel  knew  that  the  man  who  was  speaking  was 
George  Rivers,  a  small  farmer  living  a  short  distance  in 
the  country.  His  companions  were  Tom  Alford  and 

[  269  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Britt  Hanson,  and  the  man  who  had  gone  to  town  for 
the  ammunition  was  Sam  Hathaway. 

"  Are  you  right  certain  an'  shore  that  this  man 
Hotchkiss  is  stayin'  wi'  Mahlon  Butts  ?  "  George  Rivers 
inquired. 

"  He  lopes  out  from  there  every  mornin',"  replied 
Tom  Alford. 

"  Mahlon  allers  was  the  biggest  skunk  in  the  woods," 
remarked  Hanson.  "  He's  runnin'  for  ordinary.  I 
happened  to  hear  him  talkin'  to  a  lot  of  niggers  t'other 
day,  and  I  went  up  and  cussed  him  out.  I  wanted  the 
niggers  to  see  how  chicken-hearted  he  is.  Well,  sirs,  he 
never  turned  a  feather.  I  never  seed  a  more  lamblike 
man  in  my  life.  I  started  to  spit  in  his  face,  and  then 
I  happened  to  think  about  his  wife.  Yes,  sirs,  it  seemed 
to  me  for  about  the  space  of  a  second  or  two  that  I  was 
lookin'  right  spang  in  Becky's  big  eyes,  an'  I  couldn't 
'a'  said  a  word  or  done  a  thing  to  save  my  life.  I  jest 
whirled  in  my  tracks  and  went  on  about  my  business. 
You-all  know  Becky  Butts — well,  there's  a  woman  that 
comes  mighty  nigh  bein'  a  saint.  Why  she  married 
sech  a  rapscallion  as  Mahlon,  I'll  never  tell  you,  an'  I 
don't  believe  she  knows  herself.  But  she's  all  that's 
saved  Mahlon." 

"  That's  the  Lord's  truth,"  responded  Tom  Alford. 

"  Why,  when  he  first  j'ined  the  stinkin'  radicals,"  con 
tinued  Britt  Hanson,  "  a  passel  of  the  boys,  me  among 
'em,  laid  off  to  pay  him  a  party  call,  an'  string  him  up. 
Well,  the  very  day  we'd  fixed  on,  here  comes  Becky  over 
to  my  house ;  an'  she  fetched  the  baby,  too.  I  knowed, 


GABRIEL     AT    THE     BIG    POPLAR 

time  I  laid  eyes  on  her,  that  she  had  done  got  wind  of 
what  we  was  up  to.  Says  she  to  me,  '  Britt,  I  hear  it 
whispered  around  that  you  are  fixin'  up  to  do  me  next 
to  the  worst  harm  a  man  can  do  to  a  woman.'  '  Why, 
Becky,'  says  I,  '  I  wouldn't  harm  you  for  the  world,  and 
I  wouldn't  let  anybody  else  do  it.'  '  Oh,  yes,  you  would, 
Britt,'  says  she.  She  laughed  as  she  said  it,  but  when 
I  looked  in  her  big  eyes,  I  could  see  trouble  and  pain  in 
'em.  I  says  to  her,  says  I,  '  What  put  that  idee  in  your 
head,  Becky  ?  '  And  says  she,  '  No  matter  how  it  got 
there,  Britt,  so  long  as  it's  there.  You're  fixin'  up  to 
hurt  me  an'  my  baby.' 

"  Well,  sirs,  you  can  see  where  she  had  me.  I  says, 
says  I,  '  Becky,  what's  to  hendcr  you  from  takin'  supper 
here  to-night  ?  '  This  kinder  took  her  by  surprise.  She 
says,  *  I'd  like  it  the  best  in  the  world,  Britt ;  but  don't 
you  think  I'd  better  be  at  home — to-night  ?  '  '  No,' 
says  I, '  a  passel  of  the  boys'll  be  here  d'reckly  after  sup 
per,  and  I  reckon  maybe  they'd  like  to  see  you.  You 
know  yourself  that  they're  all  mighty  fond  of  you, 
Becky,'  says  I.  She  sorter  studied  awhile,  an'  then  she 
says,  '  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Britt — I'll  come  over 
after  supper  an'  set  awhile.'  '  You  ain't  afeard  to 
come?  '  says  I.  '  No,  Britt,'  says  she;  '  I  ain't  afeard 
of  nothin'  in  this  world  except  my  friends.'  She  was 
laughin',  but  they  ain't  much  diff'ence  betwixt  that  kind 
of  laughin'  an'  cryin'. 

"  About  that  time,  mother  come  in.  Says  she,  '  An' 
be  shore  an'  fetch  the  baby,  Becky.'  The  minnit  mother 
said  that,  I  know'd  that  she  was  the  one  that  told  Becky 

[271  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

what  we  had  laid  off  to  do.  You-all  know  what  hap 
pened  after  that." 

"  We  do  that  away,"  said  George  Rivers.  "  When 
I  walked  in  on  you,  and  seen  Becky  an'  the  baby,  I 
know'd  purty  well  that  the  jig  was  up,  but  I  thought 
I'd  set  it  out  and  see  what'd  happen." 

"  I  never  seen  a  baby  do  like  that'n  done  that  night," 
remarked  Tom  Alford.  "  It  laughed  an'  it  crowed,  an' 
helt  out  its  ban's  to  go  to  ever'  blessed  feller  in  the 
crowd;  an'  Becky  looked  like  she  was  the  happiest 
creetur  in  the  world.  I  was  the  fust  feller  to  cave,  an' 
I  didn't  feel  a  bit  sheepish  about  it,  neither.  I  rose,  I 
did,  an'  says,  '  Well,  boys,  it's  about  my  bedtime,  an'  I 
reckon  I'll  toddle  along,'  an'  so  I  handed  the  baby  to 
the  next  feller,  an'  mosicd  off  home." 

"  You  did,"  said  Britt  Hanson,  "  an'  by  the  time  the 
boys  got  through  passin'  the  baby  to  the  next  feller, 
there  wan't  any  feller  left  but  me.  An'  then  the  fun 
niest  thing  happened  that  you  ever  seed.  You  know 
how  Becky  was  gwine  on,  laughin'  an'  talkin'.  Well, 
the  last  man  hadn't  hardly  shet  the  door  behind  him, 
when  Becky  flopped  down  and  put  her  head  in  mother's 
lap,  and  cried  like  a  baby.  I'm  mighty  glad  I  ain't 
married,"  Britt  Hanson  went  on.  "  There  ain't  a  man 
in  the  world  that  knows  a  woman's  mind.  Why,  Becky 
was  runnin'  on  and  laughin'  jest  like  a  gal  at  picnic  up 
to  the  minnit  the  last  man  slammed  the  door,  and  then, 
down  she  went  and  began  to  boohoo.  Now,  what  do  you 
think  of  that?  " 

"  I  know  one  thing,"  remarked  George  Rivers — "  the 
[  272  ] 


GABRIEL    AT    THE    BIG    POPLAR 

meaner  a  man  is,  the  quicker  he  gits  the  pick  of  the 
flock.  The  biggest  fool  in  the  world  allers  gits  the  best 
or  the  purtiest  gal." 

Then  there  was  a  pause,  as  if  the  men  were  listening. 
"  Well,"  said  Tom  Alford,  after  awhile,  "  we  ain't  after 
the  gals  now.  That  Hotchkiss  feller  goes  out  to  Mah- 
lon's  by  fust  one  road  and  then  the  other.  You  know 
where  Ike  Varner  lives ;  well,  Ike's  wife  is  a  mighty  good- 
lookin'  yaller  gal,  an'  when  Hotchkiss  knows  that  Ike 
ain't  at  home,  he  goes  by  that  road.  I  got  all  that  from 
a  nigger  that  works  for  me.  If  Ike  ain't  at  home,  he 
goes  in  for  a  drink  of  water,  an'  then  he  tells  the  yaller 
gal  how  to  convert  Ike  into  bein'  a  radical — Ike,  you 
know,  don't  flock  with  that  crowd.  That's  what  the  gal 
tells  my  nigger.  Well,  I  put  a  flea  in  Ike's  ear  t'other 
day,  an'  night  before  last,  Ike  comes  to  me  to  borry  my 
pistol.  You  know  that  short,  single-barrel  shebang? 
Well,  I  loant  it  to  him  on  the  express  understandin' 
that  he  wasn't  to  shoot  any  spring  doves  nor  wild  pea 
fowls." 

The  men  laughed,  and  then  sat  or  stood  silent,  each 
occupied  with  his  own  reflections,  until  Sam  Hathaway 
returned.  Whereupon,  they  moved  on,  one  of  them 
singing,  in  a  surprisingly  sweet  tenor,  the  ballad  of 
"  Nelly  Gray." 

It  was  now  dark,  and  ordinarily,  Gabriel  would  have 
gone  to  supper.  But,  instead  of  doing  that,  he  went  on 
toward  town,  and  met  Hotchkiss  and  Boring  on  the  out 
skirts.  They  were  engaged  in  a  close  discussion  when 
Gabriel  met  them.  It  would  have  been  a  great  deal  bet- 

[  273  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

ter  for  him  and  his  friends  if  he  had  passed  on  without 
a  word ;  but  Gabriel  was  Gabriel,  and  he  was  compelled 
to  act  according  to  Gabriel's  nature.  So,  without  hesi 
tation,  he  walked  up  to  the  two  men. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Hotchkiss?  "  he  inquired. 

"  That  is  my  name,"  replied  Hotchkiss  in  his  smooth 
est  tone. 

"  Are  you  going  out  to  Butts's  to-night  ?  " 

"  Now,  that  is  a  queer  question,"  remarked  Hotchkiss, 
after  a  pause — "  a  very  queer  question.  What  is  your 
name  ?  " 

"  Tolliver— Gabriel  Tolliver." 

"  Gabriel  Tolliver — h'm — yes.  Well,  Mr.  Tolliver, 
why  are  you  so  desirous  of  knowing  whether  I  go  to 
Butts's  to-night?" 

"Honestly,"  replied  Gabriel,  a  little  nettled  at  the 
man's  airs,  "  I  don't  want  to  know  at  all.  I  simply 
wanted  to  advise  you  not  to  go  there  to-night." 

"  Oh,  you  wanted  to  advise  me  not  to  go.  Now,  then, 
let's  go  a  little  further  into  the  matter.  Why  do  }rou 
want  to  advise  me?  "  Hotchkiss  was  a  man  who  was  not 
only  ripe  for  a  discussion  at  all  times,  and  upon  any 
subject,  but  made  it  a  point  to  emphasise  all  the  most 
trifling  details.  "  Have  you  any  special  interest  in  my 
welfare?" 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Gabriel,  bluntly.  "  I  simply 
wanted  to  drop  you  a  hint.  You  can  take  it  or  not,  just 
as  you  choose."  With  that,  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
went  home  to  supper,  little  dreaming  that  his  kindness 
of  heart,  and  his  sincere  efforts  to  do  a  stranger  a  favour 

[274] 


GABRIEL    AT    THE    BIG    POPLAR 

would  involve  him  in  a  tangled  web  of  circumstances, 
from  which  he  would  find  it  almost  impossible  to  escape. 

Gabriel  heard  Hotchkiss  laugh,  but  he  did  not  hear 
the  remark  that  followed. 

"  Why,  even  the  children  and  the  young  men  think  I 
am  a  coward.  They  have  the  idea  that  courage  exists 
nowhere  but  among  themselves.  It  is  the  most  peculiar 
mental  delusion  I  ever  heard,  and  it  persists  in  the  face 
of  facts.  The  probability  is  that  the  young  man  who 
has  just  delivered  this  awful  warning  has  laid  a  wager 
with  some  of  his  companions  that  he  can  fill  me  full  of 
fright  and  prevent  my  going  to  Butts's." 

"  Now,  I  don't  think  that,"  replied  Boring,  or  Bridal- 
bin.  "  I  know  these  people  to  the  core.  I  had  their 
ideas  and  thought  their  thoughts  until  I  found  that  sen 
timent  doesn't  pay.  That  young  man  has  probably 
heard  some  threat  made  against  you,  and  he  thinks  he 
is  doing  the  chivalrous  thing  to  give  you  a  warning. 
Chivalry !  Why,  I  reckon  that  word  has  done  more 
harm  to  this  section,  first  and  last,  than  the  war  itself." 

"  Or,  more  probable  still,"  suggested  Hotchkiss,  his 
voice  as  smooth  and  as  flexible  as  a  snake,  "  he  was  sim 
ply  trying  to  find  out  whether  I  propose  to  go  to  Butts's 
to-night.  If  I  had  some  one  to  keep  an  eye  on  him,  we 
might  be  able  to  procure  some  important  information, 
disclosing  a  conspiracy  against  the  officers  of  the  Gov 
ernment.  A  few  arrests  in  this  neighbourhood  might 
have  a  wholesome  and  subduing  effect." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  said  Bridalbin.  "  I  know 
these  people  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do." 

[  275  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  I  know  them  a  great  deal  better  than  I  care  to,"  re 
marked  Hotchkiss  drily.  "  I  have  not  a  doubt  that  this 
young  Tolliver  was  one  of  that  marauding  band  of  con 
spirators  that  surrounded  the  church  recently,  and  en 
deavoured  to  intimidate  our  coloured  fellow-citizens.  Nor 
do  I  doubt  that  these  same  conspirators  will  make  an  ef 
fort  to  frighten  me.  I  have  no  doubt  that  they  will 
make  a  strong  effort  to  run  me  away.  But  they  can't 
do  it,  my  friend.  I  feel  that  I  have  a  mission  here,  and 
here  I  propose  to  stay  until  there  is  no  work  for  me  to 
do." 

"  Well,  I  can  keep  an  eye  on  Tolliver  if  you  think  it 
best,"  Bridalbin  suggested  somewhat  doubtfully.  "  I 
know  where  he  lives." 

"  Do  that,  Boring,"  exclaimed  Hotchkiss  with  grate 
ful  enthusiasm.  "  Come  to  the  lodge  about  nine  or  half- 
past,  and  report."  The  "  lodge  "  was  the  new  name  for 
the  old  school-house,  and  in  that  direction  Hotchkiss 
turned  his  steps. 


[  276] 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 


Bridalbin  Follows  Gabriel 

JjORING,  or  Bridalbin — no  one  ever  discovered  why 
he  changed  his  name,  for  he  changed  neither  his  nature 
nor  his  associations — followed  along  after  Gabriel,  and 
was  in  time  to  see  him  enter  the  door  and  close  it  behind 
him.  The  Lumsden  Place  was  somewhat  in  the  open, 
but  the  trees,  where  Bridalbin  took  up  his  position  of 
watcher,  made  such  dense  and  heavy  shadows  that  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  distinguish  objects  more  than  a  few 
feet  away.  In  these  heavy  shadows  Bridalbin  stood 
while  Gabriel  was  supposed  to  be  eating  his  supper. 

A  dog  trotting  along  the  walk  shied  and  growled 
when  he  saw  the  motionless  figure,  but  after  that,  there 
was  a  long  period  of  silence,  which  was  finally  broken 
by  voices  on  a  veranda  not  far  away.  The  owners  of 
the  voices  had  evidently  come  out  for  a  breath  of  fresh 
air,  and  were  carrying  on  a  conversation  which  had  be 
gun  inside.  Bridalbin  could  see  neither  the  house  nor 
the  occupants  of  the  veranda,  but  he  could  hear  every 
word  that  was  said.  One  of  the  voices  was  soft  and 
clear,  while  the  other  wras  hard,  almost  harsh,  yet  it  was 
the  voice  of  a  woman.  If  Bridalbin  had  been  at  all 
familiar  with  Shady  Dale,  he  would  have  known  that  one 

[277] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

of  the  speakers  was  Madame  Awtry  and  the  other  Miss 
Puella  Gillum. 

"  It  was  only  a  few  weeks  ago  that  they  told  the  poor 
child  about  her  father,"  said  Miss  Puella.  "  Neighbour 
Tomlin  couldn't  muster  up  the  courage  to  do  it,  and  so 
it  became  Fanny's  duty.  I  know  it  nearly  broke  her 
heart." 

"  Why  did  they  tell  her  at  all?  Why  did  they  think 
it  was  necessary?  "  inquired  Madame  Awtry.  Her  voice 
had  in  it  the  quality  that  attracts  attention  and  compels 
obedience. 

"  Well,  you  know  Margaret  is  of  age  now,  and  Neigh 
bour  Tomlin,  who  is  made  up  of  heart  and  conscience, 
felt  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  keep  her  in  ignorance,  but 
he  couldn't  make  up  his  mind  to  be  the  bearer  of  bad 
news ;  so  it  fell  to  Fanny's  lot.  But  it  seems  that  Mar 
garet  already  knew,  and  on  that  occasion  Fanny  had  to 
do  all  the  crying  that  was  done.  Margaret  had  known  it 
all  along,  and  had  only  feigned  ignorance  in  order  not  to 
worry  her  mother.  '  I  have  known  it  from  the  first,'  she 
said.  '  Please  don't  tell  Nan.'  But  Nan  had  known  it 
all  along,  and  Fanny  told  Margaret  so.  It  is  a  pity 
about  her  father.  If  he  was  what  he  should  be,  he'd  be 
very  proud  of  Margaret." 

"  His  name  was  Bridlebin,  or  something  of  that  kind, 
was  it  not?  "  Madame  Awtry  asked. 

"  Something  like  that,"  replied  Miss  Puella.  "  The 
world  is  full  of  trouble,"  she  said  after  awhile,  and  her 
voice  was  as  gentle  as  the  cooing  of  a  dove — "  so  very 
full  of  trouble.  I  sometimes  think  that  we  should  have 

[  278  ] 


BRIDALBIN    FOLLOWS    GABRIEL 

as  much  pity  for  those  who  are  the  cause  of  it  as  for 
those  who  are  the  victims."  Alas!  Miss  Puella  was 
thinking  of  Waldron  Awtry,  whose  stormy  spirit  had 
passed  away. 

"  That  is  the  Christian  spirit,  certainly,"  said  Wal- 
dron's  mother,  in  her  firm,  clear  tones.  "  Let  those  live 
up  to  it  who  can !  " 

"  The  girl  is  in  good  hands,"  remarked  Miss  Puella, 
after  a  pause,  "  and  she  should  be  happy.  Neighbour 
Tomlin  and  Fanny  fairly  worship  her." 

"  Yes,  she's  in  good  hands,"  responded  Madame  Aw 
try,  "  yet  when  she  comes  here,  which  she  is  kind  enough 
to  do  sometimes,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  can  see  trouble  in 
her  eyes.  It  is  hard  to  describe,  but  it's  such  an  expres 
sion  as  you  or  I  would  have  if  we  were  dependent,  and 
something  was  wrong  or  going  wrong  with  those  on 
whom  we  depended.  But  it  may  be  merely  my  imagina 
tion." 

"  It  certainly  must  be,"  Miss  Puella  declared,  "  for 
there  is  nothing  wrong  or  going  wrong  with  Neighbour 
Tomlin  and  Fanny." 

At  this  point  the  conversation  ceased,  and  the  two 
women  sat  silent,  each  occupied  with  her  own  thoughts. 
Miss  Puella  wondered  that  Madame  Awtry  could  even 
imagine  trouble  at  the  Tomlin  Place,  while  the  Madame 
was  smiling  grimly  to  herself,  and  pitying  Miss  Puella 
because  she  could  not  perceive  what  the  trouble  really 
was.  "  What  a  world  it  is !  what  a  world !  "  Madame 
Awtry  said  to  herself  with  a  sigh. 

And  Bridalbin  stood  wondering  at  the  freak  of  chance 
[  279  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

or  circumstance  that  had  enabled  him  to  hear  two  per 
sons  unknown  to  him  discussing  the  dependence  of  his 
daughter.  "  Dependent  "  was  the  word  that  grated  on 
his  ear.  He  never  thought  of  Providence — how  few  of 
us  do ! — he  never  dreamed  that  his  presence  at  that  par 
ticular  place  at  that  particular  moment  was  to  be  the 
means  of  providing  a  sure  remedy  for  the  most  serious 
trouble,  short  of  bereavement,  that  his  daughter  would 
ever  be  called  on  to  face. 

Bridalbin  wralked  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  Lums- 
den  Place,  which  having  fewer  trees  around  it  could  be 
dimly  seen  in  the  starlight.  Before  he  emerged  from 
the  denser  shadows  he  heard  the  door  open  and  close, 
and  then  Gabriel  came  down  the  steps  whistling,  and  was 
soon  in  the  thoroughfare.  But,  instead  of  going  tow 
ard  town,  he  turned  and  went  toward  the  fields.  Fol 
lowing  the  road  for  a  hundred  yards  or  more  he  soon 
came  to  the  bars,  which  formed  a  sort  of  gateway  to  the 
rich  pastures  of  Bermuda,  and,  vaulting  lightly  over 
these,  he  was  soon  lost  to  view,  though  the  stars  were 
shining  as  brightly  as  they  could.  He  was  making  his 
way  toward  his  favourite  Bermuda  hill. 

Now,  Bridalbin  knew  enough  about  the  topography 
of  Shady  Dale  to  know  that  the  path  or  roadway,  lead 
ing  from  the  bars  across  the  Bermuda  fields,  was  a  short 
cut  to  one  of  the  highways  that  led  from  town  past  the 
door  of  Mahlon  Butts.  He  paused  a  moment,  and  then, 
more  sedate  than  Gabriel,  climbed  the  bars  and  followed 
the  path  across  the  field.  He  walked  rapidly,  for  he 
was  anxious  to  discover  what  course  Gabriel  had  taken. 

[  280  ] 


BRIDALBIN    FOLLOWS    GABRIEL 

He  crossed  the  fields  and  saw  no  one;  he  reached  the 
highway,  and  followed  it  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  more, 
but  he  could  see  no  sign  of  Gabriel. 

And  for  a  very  good  reason.  That  young  man  had 
followed  the  field-path  only  a  short  distance.  He  had 
turned  sharply  to  the  right,  making  for  the  Bermuda 
hill,  where,  with  no  fear  of  the  dewy  dampness  to  disturb 
him,  he  flung  himself  at  full  length  on  the  velvety  grass, 
and  gulped  down  great  draughts  of  the  cool,  sweet  air. 
He  heard  the  sound  of  Bridalbin's  footsteps,  as  that 
worthy  went  rapidly  along  the  path,  and  he  had  a  boy's 
mischievous  impulse  to  hail  the  passer-by.  But  he  was 
so  fond  of  the  hill,  and  so  jealous  of  his  possession  of 
the  silence,  the  night,  and  the  remote  stars,  that  he  sup 
pressed  the  impulse,  and  Bridalbin  went  on  his  way,  firm 
in  the  belief  that  Gabriel  had  crossed  the  field  to  the  pub 
lic  highway,  and  was  now  going  in  the  direction  of  Mah- 
lon  Butts's  home.  He  believed  it,  and  continued  to 
believe  it  to  his  dying  day,  though  the  only  evidence  he 
had  was  the  hint  conveyed  in  the  surmises  of  Hotchkiss. 

Bridalbin  finally  abandoned  his  wild-goose  chase,  and 
returned  to  the  neighbourhood  of  Gabriel's  home,  where 
he  waited  and  watched  until  his  engagement  with  Hotch 
kiss  compelled  him  to  abandon  his  post.  The  business 
of  the  Union  League  was  not  very  pressing  that  night, 
or  it  had  been  dispatched  with  unusual  celerity,  for  when 
Bridalbin  reached  the  old  school-house,  the  Rev.  Jere 
miah,  who  had  taken  upon  himself  the  duties  of  janitor, 
was  in  the  act  of  closing  the  doors. 

"  I  been  waitin'  fer  you,  Mr.  Borin',"  said  the  Rev. 
[  281  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Jeremiah,  after  he  had  responded  to  Bridalbin's  saluta 
tion.  De  Honerbul  Mr.  Hotchkiss  tol'  me  ter  tell  you, 
in  case  I  seed  you,  dat  he  gwine  on  home;  an'  he  say 
p'intedly  dat  dey's  no  need  fer  ter  worry  *bout  him,  kaze 
eve'ything's  all  right.  Ez  he  gun  it  ter  me,  so  I  gin  it 
ter  you.  You  oughter  been  here  ter-night.  Me  an' 
Mr.  Hotchkiss  took  an'  put  all  de  business  thoo  'fo'  you 
kin  bat  yo'  eye ;  yes,  suh,  we  did  fer  a  f  ack." 

"  I'm  very  sorry  he  didn't  wait  for  me,"  said  Bridal- 
bin. 

As  for  Gabriel,  he  lay  out  on  the  Bermuda  hill,  con 
templating  himself  and  the  rest  of  the  world.  The  stars 
rode  overhead,  all  moving  together  like  some  vast  fleet 
of  far-off  ships.  In  the  northwest,  while  Gabriel  was 
watching,  a  huge  star  seemed  to  break  away  from  its 
companions  and  rush  hurtling  toward  the  west,  leaving 
a  trail  of  white  vapour  behind  it.  The  illumination  was 
but  momentary.  The  Night  was  quick  to  snuff  out  all 
lights  but  its  own.  Whatever  might  be  taking  place  on 
the  other  side  of  the  world,  Night  had  possession  here, 
and  proposed  to  maintain  it  as  long  as  possible.  A  bird 
might  scream  when  Brother  Fox  seized  it ;  a  mouse  might 
squeak  when  Cousin  Screech-Owl  swooped  down  on  noise 
less  wing  and  seized  it;  Uncle  Wind  might  rustic  the 
green  grass  in  search  of  Brother  Dust :  nevertheless,  the 
order  of  the  hour  was  silence,  and  Night  was  prompt  to 
enforce  it. 

It  is  a  fine  night,  Gabriel  thought — and  the  Silence 
might  have  answered,  "  Yes,  a  fine  night  and  a  fateful." 
It  was  a  night  that  was  to  leave  its  mark  on  many  lives. 

[  282  ] 


BRIDALBIN    FOLLOWS    GABRIEL 

At  supper,  Gabriel's  grandmother  had  informed  him 
that  three  of  his  friends  had  come  by  to  invite  him  to 
accompany  them  to  a  country  dance  on  the  further  side  of 
Murder  Creek — a  dance  following  a  neighbouring  bar 
becue.  These  friends,  his  grandmother  said,  were  Fran 
cis  Bethune,  Paul  Tomlin,  and  Jesse  Tidwell.  They 
had  searched  the  town  over  for  Gabriel,  and  were  dis 
appointed  at  not  finding  him  at  home. 

"  Where  do  you  hide  yourself,  Gabriel  ?  "  his  grand 
mother  had  asked  him.  "  And  why  do  you  hide  ?  This 
is  not  the  first  time  by  a  dozen  that  your  friends  have 
been  unable  to  find  you." 

Gabriel  shook  his  curly  head  and  laughed.  "  Let 
me  see,  grandmother:  directly  after  dinner,  I  said  my 
Latin  and  Greek  lessons  to  Mr.  Clopton.  Bethune  was 
upstairs  in  his  own  room,  for  I  heard  him  singing.  Af 
ter  that,  I  went  into  the  library,  and  read  for  an  hour 
or  more.  Then  I  selected  a  book  and  went  over  the  hill 
to  the  big  poplar — you  know  where  it  is — and  there  I 
stayed  until  dark." 

"  It  is  all  very  well  to  read  and  study,  Gabriel,  and 
I  am  sure  I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  are  doing  both," 
said  his  grandmother,  with  a  smile,  "  but  you  must  re 
member  that  there  are  social  obligations  which  cannot  be 
ignored.  You  will  have  to  go  out  into  the  world  after 
awhile,  and  you  should  begin  to  get  in  the  habit  of  it 
now.  You  should  not  avoid  your  friends.  I  don't 
mean,  of  course,  that  you  should  run  after  them,  or  fling 
yourself  at  their  heads ;  I  wouldn't  have  you  do  that  for 
the  world ;  but  you  shouldn't  make  a  hermit  of  yourself. 

[  283  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

To  be  popular,  you  should  mix  and  mingle  freely  with 
your  equals.  I  know  how  it  was  in  my  day.  I  was  not 
fond  of  society  myself,  but  my  mother  always  insisted 
that  I  should  sacrifice  my  own  inclinations  for  the  pleas 
ure  of  others,  and  in  this  way  earn  the  only  kind  of 
popularity  that  is  really  gratifying.  And  I  really  be 
lieve  I  was  the  most  popular  of  all  the  girls."  The  dear 
old  lady  tossed  her  head  triumphantly. 

"  That's  what  Mr.  Clopton  says,"  remarked  Gabriel ; 
"  but  you  know,  grandmother,  your  time  was  different 
from  our  time  " — oh,  these  youngsters  who  persist  in 
reminding  us  of  our  fogyism — "  and  you  were  a  girl  in 
those  days,  while  I  am  a  boy  in  these.  I  am  lazy,  I 
know;  I  can  loaf  with  a  book  all  day  long;  but  for  the 
life  of  me,  I  can't  do  as  Bethune  does.  He  doesn't  read, 
and  he  doesn't  study;  he  just  dawdles  around,  and  calls 
on  the  girls,  and  talks  with  them  by  the  hour.  He  used 
to  be  in  love  with  Nan  (so  Mr.  Sanders  says)  and  now 
he's  in  love  with  Margaret  Bridalbin;  he's  just  crazy 
about  her.  Now,  I'm  not  in  love  with  anybody  " — "  oh, 
Gabriel !  "  protested  a  still,  small  voice  in  his  bosom — 
"  and  if  I  were,  I  wouldn't  dawdle  around,  and  whittle 
on  drygoods  boxes,  and  go  and  sit  for  hours  at  a  time 
with  Sally,  and  Susy,  and  Bessy,  and  Molly."  De 
cidedly,  Gabriel  was  coming  out;  here  he  was  with 
strong  views  of  his  own. 

His  grandmother  laughed  aloud  at  this,  saying,  "  You 
are  very  much  like  your  grandfather,  Gabriel.  He  was 
a  very  serious  and  masterful  man.  He  detested  small- 
talk  and  tittle-tattle,  and  I  was  the  only  girl  he  ever 

[  284] 


BRIDALBIN    FOLLOWS    GABRIEL 

went  with.  But  Francis  Bethune  is  very  foolish  not  to 
stick  to  Nan ;  she  is  such  a  delightful  girl.  It  would  be 
very  unfortunate  indeed  if  those  two  were  not  to  marry." 

If  the  dear  old  lady  had  not  been  so  loyal  to  her  sex, 
she  would  have  told  Gabriel  that  Nan  had  visited  her 
that  very  day,  and  had  asked  a  thousand  and  one  ques 
tions  about  her  old-time  comrade.  Indeed,  Nan,  with 
that  delightful  spirit  of  unconventionality  that  became 
her  so  well,  had  made  bold  to  rummage  through  Gabriel's 
books  and  papers.  She  found  one  sheet  on  which  he  had 
evidently  begun  a  letter.  It  started  out  well,  and  then 

stopped  suddenly :  "  Dear  Nan :  I  hardly  know " 

Then  the  attempt  was  abandoned  in  despair,  and  on  the 
lower  part  of  the  sheet  was  scrawled :  "  Dearest  Nan :  I 
hardly  know,  in  fact  I  don't  know,  and  you'll  never  know 
till  Gabriel  blows  his  horn."  This  sheet  the  fair  forager 
promptly  appropriated,  saying  to  herself  "  Boys  are 
such  funny  creatures." 

The  conversation  between  Gabriel  and  his  grand 
mother,  as  has  been  said,  took  place  while  they  were  eat 
ing  their  supper.  The  youngster  was  not  sorry  that  he 
was  absent  when  his  friends  called  for  him.  It  was  a 
long  ride  to  the  Samples  plantation,  where  the  dance  was 
to  be,  and  a  long,  long  ride  back  home,  when  the  fiddles 
were  in  their  bags,  the  dancers  fagged  out,  and  the  fun 
and  excitement  all  over  and  done  with.  The  Bermuda 
hill  was  good  enough  for  Gabriel,  unless  he  could  ar 
range  his  own  dances,  and  have  one  partner — just  one 
— from  early  candle-light  till  the  grey  dawn  of  morning. 

It  was  late  when  Gabriel  returned  from  the  Bermuda 
[  285  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

hill,  later  than  he  thought,  for  he  had  completely  lost 
himself  in  the  solemn  imaginings  that  overtake  and  over 
whelm  a  young  man  who  is  just  waking  up  to  the  serious 
side  of  existence,  and  on  whose  mind  are  beginning  to 
dawn  the  possibilities  and  responsibilities  of  manhood. 
Ah,  these  young  men !  How  lovable  they  are  when  they 
are  true  to  themselves — when  they  try  boldly  to  live  up 
to  their  own  ideals ! 

Once  in  his  room,  Gabriel  looked  about  for  the  book 
he  had  been  reading  during  the  afternoon.  It  was  his 
habit  to  read  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  least — sometimes 
longer — before  going  to  bed.  But  the  book  was  not  to 
be  found.  This  was  surprising  until  he  remembered  that 
he  had  not  entered  his  bed-room  since  the  dinner-hour; 
and  then  it  suddenly  dawned  on  his  mind  that  he  had  left 
the  book  at  the  foot  of  the  big  poplar. 

Well!  that  was  a  pretty  come-off  for  a  young  man 
who  was  inclined  to  be  proud  of  his  careful  and  system 
atic  methods.  And  the  book  was  a  borrowed  one,  and 
very  valuable — one  of  the  early  editions  of  Franklin's 
autobiography,  bound  in  leather.  What  would  Meri- 
wether  Clopton  think,  if,  through  Gabriel's  carelessness, 
the  dampness  and  the  dew  had  injured  the  volume, 
which,  after  Horace  and  Virgil,  was  one  of  Mr.  Clop- 
ton's  favourites? 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done,  and  that  Gabriel 
was  prompt  to  do.  He  went  softly  downstairs,  so  as 
not  to  disturb  his  grandmother,  and  made  his  way  to  the 
big  poplar,  where  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  the 
book.  Thanks  to  the  sheltering  arms  of  the  tree,  and 

[286] 


BRIDALBIN    FOLLOWS    GABRIEL 

the  leaf-covered  ground,  the  volume  had  sustained  no 
damage. 

As  Gabriel  recovered  the  book,  and  while  he  was  ex 
amining  it,  he  heard  a  chorus  of  whistlers  coming  along 
the  road.  Mingled  with  the  whistling  chorus  were  the 
various  sounds  made  by  a  waggon  drawn  by  horses.  Ga 
briel  judged  that  the  waggon  contained  the  young  men 
who  had  been  to  the  dance  at  the  Samples  plantation, 
and  in  this  his  judgment  turned  out  to  be  correct.  The 
young  men  were  in  a  double-seated  spring  waggon, 
drawn  by  two  horses.  They  drew  up  in  response  to  Ga 
briel's  holla,  and  he  climbed  into  the  waggon. 

"  Well,  what  in  the  name  of  the  seven  stars  are  you 
doing  out  here  in  the  woods  at  this  time  of  night  ?  "  cried 
Jesse  Tidwell,  and  he  laughed  with  humourous  scorn 
when  Gabriel  told  him. 

"  But  the  book  belongs  to  Bethune's  grandfather," 
explained  Gabriel.  "  It  might  have  been  ruined  by 
rain,  or  by  the  damp  night-air,  if  left  out  until  morn 
ing.  If  it  had  been  my  own  book,  perhaps  I'd  have 
trusted  to  luck." 

"  You  missed  it  to-night,  Tolliver,"  said  Francis 
Bethune.  "  Feel  Samples  " — his  name  was  Felix — 
"  was  considerably  put  out  because  you  didn't  come. 
And  the  girls — Tolliver,  when  did  you  get  acquainted 
with  them?  They  all  know  you.  Nelly  Kendrick 
tossed  her  head  and  turned  up  her  nose,  and  said  that  a 
dance  wasn't  a  dance  unless  Mr.  Tolliver  was  present. 
Tidwell,  who  was  the  red-headed  girl  that  raved  so  about 
Tolliver's  curls?" 

[  287  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  exclaimed  Jesse  Tidwell,  "  that  was  Amy 
Rowland.  If  she  wasn't  the  belle  of  the  ball,  I'll  never 
want  any  more  money  in  this  world.  It's  no  use  for  Ga 
briel  to  blow  his  horn,  when  he  has  all  the  girls  in  that 
part  of  the  country  to  blow  it  for  him.  My  son,  when 
and  where  did  you  come  to  know  all  these  young 
ladies?" 

"  Why,  I  used  to  go  out  there  to  church  with  Mr. 
Sanders,  and  sometimes  with  Mrs.  Absalom.  There  are 
some  fine  people  in  that  settlement." 

"  Fine !  "  exclaimed  Jesse  Tidwell,  with  real  enthusi 
asm  ;  "  why,  split  silk  is  as  coarse  as  gunny-bagging  by 
the  side  of  those  girls.  I  told  'em  I  was  coming  back. 
'  You  must ! '  they  declared,  '  and  be  sure  and  bring  Mr. 
Tolliver ! '  Young  Tidwell  mimicked  a  girl's  voice  with 
such  ridiculous  completeness  that  his  companions  shouted 
with  laughter.  "  There's  another  thing  you  missed, 
Tolliver,"  he  went  on.  "  Feel  Samples  has  a  cow  that 
gives  apple-brandy,  and  old  Burrel  Bohannon,  the  one- 
legged  fiddler,  must  have  milked  her  dry,  for  along 
about  half-past  ten  he  kind  of  rolled  his  eyes,  and  fetched 
a  gasp,  and  wobbled  out  of  his  chair,  and  lay  on  the  floor 
just  as  if  he  was  stone  dead." 

In  a  short  time  the  young  men  had  reached  the  tavern, 
where  the  team  and  vehicle  belonged.  As  they  drew  up 
in  front  of  the  door,  Jesse  Tidwell,  continuing  and  com 
pleting  his  description  of  the  condition  of  Burrel  Bo 
hannon,  exclaimed :  "  Yes,  sir,  he  fell  and  lay  there.  He 
may  have  kicked  a  time  or  two,  and  I  think  he  mumbled 
something,  but  he  was  as  good  as  dead." 

[  288  ] 


BRIDALBIN    FOLLOWS    GABRIEL 

Bridalbin,  restless  and  uneasy,  had  been  wandering 
about  the  town,  and  he  came  up  just  in  time  to  hear  this 
last  remark.  At  that  moment,  a  negro  issued  from  the 
tavern  with  a  lantern,  and  Bridalbin  was  not  at  all  sur 
prised  to  see  Gabriel  Tolliver  with  the  rest ;  and  he  won 
dered  what  mischief  the  young  men  had  been  engaged 
in.  Some  one  had  been  badly  hurt  or  killed.  That 
much  he  could  gather  from  Tidwell's  declaration;  but 
who  ? 

He  went  to  his  lodging  and  to  bed  in  a  very  uncom 
fortable  frame  of  mind. 


[  289  ] 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 


The  Fate  of  Mr.  Hotchkiss 

MR.  HOTCHKISS,  after  leaving  the  Union  League, 
had  decided  not  to  wait  for  his  co-worker,  whom  he  knew 
as  Boring.  So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  he  had  no  fears. 
He  knew,  of  course,  that  he  was  playing  with  fire,  but 
what  of  that?  He  had  the  Government  behind  him,  and 
he  had  two  companies  of  troops  within  call.  What 
more  could  any  man  ask?  More  than  that,  he  was  do 
ing  what  he  conceived  to  be  his  duty.  He  belonged  to 
that  large  and  pestiferous  tribe  of  reformers,  who  go 
through  the  world  without  fixed  principles.  He  had 
been  an  abolitionist,  but  he  was  not  of  the  Garrison  type. 
On  the  contrary,  he  thought  that  Garrison  was  a  time- 
server  and  a  laggard  who  needed  to  be  spurred  and 
driven.  He  was  one  of  the  men  who  urged  John  Brown 
,  to  stir  up  an  insurrection  in  which  innocent  women  and 
children  would  have  been  the  chief  sufferers;  and  he 
wrould  have  rejoiced  sincerely  if  John  Brown  had  been 
successful.  He  mistook  his  opinions  for  first  principles, 
and  went  on  the  theory  that  what  he  thought  right  could 
not  by  any  possibility  be  wrong.  He  belonged  to  the 
Peace  Society,  and  yet  nothing  would  have  pleased  him 


FATE     OF    MR.     HOTCHKISS 

better  than  an  uprising  of  the  blacks,  followed  by  the    -f~ 
shedding  of  innocent  blood. 

In  short,  there  were  never  two  sides  to  any  question 
that  interested  Hotchkiss.  He  held  the  Southern  peo 
ple  responsible  for  American  slavery,  and  would  have 
refused  to  listen  to  any  statement  of  facts  calculated  to 
upset  his  belief.  He  was  narrow-minded,  bigoted,  and 
intensely  in  earnest.  Some  writer,  Newman,  perhaps, 
has  said  that  a  man  will  not  become  a  martyr  for  the 
sake  of  an  opinion ;  but  Newman  probably  never  came  in 
contact  with  the  whipper-snappers  of  Exeter  Hall,  or 
their  prototypes  in  this  country — the  men  who  believe 
that  philanthropy,  and  reform,  and  progress  generally 
are  worthless  unless  it  be  accompanied  by  strife,  and  hate,  -f- 
and,  if  possible,  by  bloodshed.  You  find  the  type  every 
where;  it  clings  like  a  leech  to  the  skirts  of  every  great 
movement.  The  Hotchkisses  swarm  wherever  there  is  an 
opening  for  them,  and  they  always  present  the  same  gen 
eral  aspect.  They  are  as  productive  of  isms  as  a  fly  is 
of  maggots,  and  they  live  and  die  in  the  belief  that  they 
are  promoting  the  progress  of  the  world;  but  if  their 
success  is  to  be  measured  by  their  operations  in  the  South 
during  the  reconstruction  period,  the  world  would  be 
much  better  off  without  them.  They  succeeded  in  dedi 
cating  millions  of  human  beings  to  misery  and  injustice,  y 
and  warped  the  minds  of  the  whites  to  such  an  extent 
that  they  thought  it  necessary  to  bring  about  peace  and 
good  order  by  means  of  various  acute  forms  of  injustice 
and  lawlessness. 

Mr.  Hotchkiss  was  absolutely  sincere  in  believing  that 

[  29'  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

the  generation  of  Southern  whites  who  were  his  contem 
poraries  were  personally  responsible  for  slavery  in  this 
country,  and  for  all  the  wrongs  that  he  supposed  had 
been  the  result  of  that  institution.  He  felt  it  in  every 
fibre  of  his  cultivated  but  narrow  mind,  and  he  went 
about  elated  at  the  idea  that  he  was  able  to  contribute 
his  mite  of  information  to  the  negroes,  and  breed  in  their 
minds  hatred  of,  the  people  among  whom  they  were  com 
pelled  to  live,  f  If  there  had  been  a  Booker  Washington 
in  that  day,  he  would  have  been  denounced  by  the  Hotch- 
kisses  as  a  traitor  to  his  race,  and  an  enemy  of  the  Gov 
ernment,  just  as  thev  denounced  and  despised  such 
negroes  as  Uncle  PlatoA 

Hotchkiss  went  along  the  road  in  high  spirits.  He 
had  delivered  a  blistering  address  to  the  negroes  at  the 
meeting  of  the  league,  and  he  was  feeling  happy.  His 
work,  he  thought,  was  succeeding.  Before  he  delivered 
his  address,  he  had  initiated  Ike  Varner,  who  was  by  all 
odds  the  most  notorious  negro  in  all  that  region.  Ike 
was  a  poet  in  his  way ;  if  he  had  lived  a  few  centuries 
earlier,  he  would  have  been  called  a  minstrel.  He  could 
stand  up  before  a  crowd  of  white  men,  and  spin  out 
rhymes  by  the  yard,  embodying  in  this  form  of  biogra 
phy  the  weak  points  of  every  citizen.  Some  of  his 
rhymes  were  very  apt,  and  there  are  men  living  to-day 
who  can  repeat  some  of  the  extemporaneous  satires  com 
posed  by  this  negro.  He  had  the  reputation  among  the 
blacks  of  being  an  uncompromising  friend  of  the  whites. 
In  the  town,  he  was  a  privileged  character;  he  could  do 
and  say  what  he  pleased.  He  was  a  fine  cook,  and  pro- 

[  292  ] 


FATE     OF     MR.     HOTCHKISS 

vided  possum  suppers  for  those  who  sat  up  late  at  night, 
and  ice-cream  for  those  who  went  to  bed  early.  He 
tidied  up  the  rooms  of  the  young  bachelors,  he  sold 
chicken-pies  and  ginger-cakes  on  public  days,  and 
Cephas,  whose  name  was  mentioned  at  the  beginning  of 
this  chronicle,  is  willing  to  pay  five  dollars  to  the  man 
or  woman  who  can  bake  a  ginger-cake  that  will  taste  as 
well  as  those  that  Ike  Varner  made.  He  was  a  happy- 
go-lucky  negro,  and  spent  his  money  as  fast  as  he  made 
it,  not  on  himself,  but  on  Edie,  his  wife,  who  was  young, 
and  bright,  and  handsome.  She  was  almost  white,  and 
her  face  reminded  you  somehow  of  the  old  paintings  of 
the  Magdalene,  with  her  large  eyes  and  the  melancholy 
droop  of  her  mouth.  Edie  was  the  one  creature  in  the 
world  that  Ike  really  cared  for,  and  he  had  sense  enough 
to  know  that  she  cared  for  him  only  when  he  could  sup 
ply  her  with  money.  Yet  he  watched  her  like  a  hawk, 
madly  j  ealous  of  every  glance  she  gave  another  man ; 
and  she  gave  many,  in  all  directions.  Ike's  jealousy  was 
the  talk  of  the  town  among  the  male  population,  and  was 
the  subject  for  many  a  jest  at  his  expense.  His  nature 
was  such  that  he  could  jest  about  it  too,  but  far  below 
the  jests,  as  any  one  could  see,  there  was  desperation. 

In  spite  of  all  this,  Ike  was  the  most  popular  negro  in 
the  town.  His  wit  and  his  good-humour  commended 
him  to  the  whole  community.  He  had  moved  his  wife 
and  his  belongings  into  the  country,  two  or  three  miles 
from  town,  on  the  ground  that  the  country  is  more  con 
ducive  to  health.  Ike's  white  friends  laughed  at  him, 
but  the  negro  couldn't  see  the  joke.  Why  should  a 

[  293  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

negro  be  laughed  at  for  taking  precautions  of  this  sort, 
when  there  is  a  whole  nation  of  whites  that  keeps  its 
women  hid,  or  compels  them  to  cover  their  faces  when 
they  go  out  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air?  The  fact  is  that 
Ike  didn't  know  what  else  to  do,  and  so  he  sent  his  hand 
some  wife  into  exile,  and  went  along  to  keep  her  com 
pany.  Nevertheless,  all  his  interests  were  within  the 
corporate  limits  of  Shady  Dale,  and  he  was  compelled  by 
circumstances  to  leave  Edie  to  pine  alone,  sometimes  till 
late  at  night.  Whether  Edie  pined  or  not,  or  whether 
she  was  lonely,  is  a  question  that  this  chronicler  is  not 
called  on  to  discuss. 

Now,  the  fact  of  Ike's  popularity  with  the  whites  had 
struck  Mr.  Hotchkiss  as  a  very  unfavourable  sign,  and 
he  set  himself  to  work  to  bring  about  a  change.  He  sent 
some  of  the  negro  leaders  to  talk  with  Ike,  who  sent  them 
about  their  business  in  short  order.  Then  Mr.  Hotch 
kiss  took  the  case  in  hand,  and  called  on  Ike  at  his  house. 
The  two  had  an  argument  over  the  matter,  Ike  inter 
spersing  his  remarks  with  random  rhymes  which  Hotch 
kiss  thought  very  coarse  and  crude.  At  the  conclusion 
of  the  argument,  Hotchkiss  saw  that  the  negro  had  been 
laughing  at  him  all  the  way  through,  and  he  resented 
this  attitude  more  than  another  would.  He  went  away 
in  a  huff,  resolved  to  leave  the  negro  with  his  idols. 

This  would  have  been  very  well,  if  the  matter  had 
stopped  there,  but  Edie  put  her  finger  in  the  pie.  One 
day  when  Ike  was  away,  she  called  to  Hotchkiss  as  he 
was  passing  on  his  way  to  town,  and  invited  him  into  the 
house.  There  was  something  about  the  man  that  had 

[  294  ] 


FATE     OF    MR.     HOTCHKISS 

attracted  the  wild  and  untamed  passions  of  the  woman. 
He  was  not  a  very  handsome  man,  but  his  refinement  of 
manner  and  speech  stood  for  something,  and  Edie  had 
resolved  to  cultivate  his  acquaintance.  He  went  in,  in 
response  to  her  invitation,  and  found  that  she  desired 
to  ask  his  advice  as  to  the  best  and  easiest  method  of  con 
verting  Ike  into  a  Union  Leaguer.  Hotchkiss  gave  her 
such  advice  as  he  could  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way, 
and  went  on  about  his  business.  Otherwise  he  paid  no 
more  attention  to  her  than  if  she  had  been  a  sign  in  front 
of  a  cigar-store.  Edie  was  not  accustomed  to  this  sort 
of  thing,  and  it  puzzled  her.  She  went  to  her  looking- 
glass  and  studied  her  features,  thinking  that  perhaps 
something  was  wrong.  But  her  beauty  had  not  even 
begun  to  fade.  A  melancholy  tenderness  shone  in  her 
lustrous  eyes,  her  rosy  lips  curved  archly,  and  the  glow 
of  the  peach-bloom  was  in  her  cheeks. 

"  I  didn't  know  the  man  was  a  preacher,"  she  said, 
laughing  at  herself  in  the  glass. 

Time  and  again  she  called  Mr.  Hotchkiss  in  as  he 
went  by,  and  on  some  occasions  they  held  long  consulta 
tions  at  the  little  gate  in  front  of  her  door.  Ike  was 
not  at  all  blind  to  these  things ;  if  he  had  been,  there  was 
more  than  one  friendly  white  man  to  call  his  attention  to 
them.  The  negro  was  compelled  to  measure  Hotchkiss 
by  the  standard  of  the  most  of  the  white  men  he  knew. 
He  was  well  aware  of  Edie's  purposes,  and  he  judged 
that  Hotchkiss  would  presently  find  them  agreeable. 

Ike  listened  to  Edie's  arguments  in  behalf  of  the 
Union  League  with  a  great  deal  of  patience.  Prompted 

[  295  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

by  Hotchkiss,  she  urged  that  membership  in  that  body 
would  give  him  an  opportunity  to  serve  his  race  politi 
cally  ;  he  might  be  able  to  go  to  the  legislature,  and,  in 
that  event,  Edie  could  go  to  Atlanta  with  him,  where 
(she  said  to  herself)  she  would  be  able  to  cut  a  consider 
able  shine.  Moreover,  membership  in  the  league,  with 
his  aptitude  for  making  a  speech,  would  give  him  stand 
ing  among  the  negro  leaders  all  over  the  State. 

Ike  argued  a  little,  but  not  much,  considering  his  feel 
ings.  He  pointed  out  that  all  his  customers,  the  people 
who  ate  his  cakes  and  his  cream,  and  so  forth  and  so  on, 
were  white,  and  felt  strongly  about  the  situation. 
Should  they  cease  their  patronage,  what  would  he  and 
Edie  do  for  victuals  to  eat  and  clothes  to  wear? 

"  Oh,  we'll  git  along  somehow ;  don't  you  fret  about 
that,"  said  Edie  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"  Maybe  you  will,  but  not  me,"  replied  Ike. 

At  last,  however,  he  had  consented  to  join  the  league, 
and  appeared  to  be  very  enthusiastic  over  the  matter. 
As  Mr.  Hotchkiss  went  along  home  that  night — the 
night  on  which  the  young  men  had  gone  to  the  country 
dance — he  was  feeling  quite  exultant  over  Ike's  conver 
sion,  and  the  enthusiasm  he  had  displayed  over  the  pro 
ceedings.  After  he  had  decided  to  go  home  rather  than 
wait  for  Bridalbin,  he  hunted  about  in  the  crowd  for 
Ike,  but  the  negro  was  not  to  be  found.  As  their  roads 
lay  in  the  same  direction  Hotchkiss  would  have  been  glad 
of  the  negro's  company  along  the  way,  and  he  was  some 
what  disappointed  when  he  was  told  that  Ike  had  started 
for  home  as  soon  as  the  meeting  ad j  ourned.  Mr.  Hotch- 


FATE     OF     MR.     HOTCHKISS 

kiss  thereupon  took  the  road  and  went  on  his  way,  walk 
ing  a  little  more  rapidly  than  usual,  in  the  hope  of  over 
taking  Ike.  At  last,  however,  he  came  to^the  conclusion 
that  the  negro  had  remained  in  town.  /  He  was  sorry, 
for  there  was  nothing  he  liked  better  than  to  drop  gall 
and  venom  into  the  mind  of  a  fairly  intelligent  negro.  ^ 

As  for  Ike,  he  had  his  own  plans.  He  had  told  Edie 
that  in  all  probability  he  wouldn't  come  home  that  night, 
and  advised  her  to  get  a  nearby  negro  woman  to  stay 
all  night  with  her.  This  Edie  promised  to  do.  When 
the  league  adjourned,  Ike  lost  no  time  in  taking  to  the 
road,  and  for  fear  some  one  might  overtake  him  he  went 
in  a  dog-trot  for  the  first  mile,  and  walked  rapidly  the 
rest  of  the  way.  Before  he  came  to  the  house,  he  stopped 
and  pulled  off  his  shoes,  hiding  them  in  a  fence-corner. 
He  then  left  the  road,  and  slipped  through  the  woods 
until  he  was  close  to  the  rear  of  the  house.  Here  his 
wariness  was  redoubled.  He  wormed  himself  along  like 
a  snake,  and  crept  and  crawled,  until  he  was  close  enough 
to  see  Edie  sitting  on  the  front  step — there  was  but  one 
— of  their  little  cabin.  He  was  close  enough  to  see  that 
she  had  on  her  Sunday  clothes,  and  he  thought  he  could 
smell  the  faint  odour  of  cologne;  he  had  brought  her  a 
bottle  home  the  night  before. 

He  lay  concealed  for  some  time,  but  finally  he  heard 
footsteps  on  the  road,  and  he  rose  warily  to  a  standing 
position.  Edie  heard  the  footsteps  too,  for  she  rose  and 
shook  out  her  pink  frock,  and  went  to  the  gate.  The 
lonely  pedestrian  came  leisurely  along  the  road,  having 
no  need  for  haste.  When  he  found  that  it  was  impos- 

[  297  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

sible  to  overtake  Ike,  Mr.  Hotchkiss  ceased  to  walk  rapid 
ly,  and  regulated  his  pace  by  the  serenity  of  the  hour 
and  the  deliberate  movements  of  nature.  The  hour  was 
rapidly  approaching  when  solitude  would  be  at  its  merid 
ian  on  this  side  of  the  world,  and  a  mocking-bird  not  far 
away  was  singing  it  in. 

Mr.  Hotchkiss  would  have  passed  Ike's  gate  without 
turning  his  head,  but  he  heard  a  voice  softly  call  his 
name.  He  paused,  and  looked  around,  and  at  the  gate 
he  saw  the  figure  of  Edie.  "  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Hotch 
kiss  ?  What  you  do  with  Ike  ?  " 

"  Isn't  he  at  home?     He  started  before  I  did." 

"  He  ain't  comin'  home  to-night,  an'  I  was  so  lonesome 
that  I  had  to  set  on  the  step  here  to  keep  myse'f  com 
pany,"  said  Edie.  "  Won't  you  come  in  an'  rest?  I 
know  you  must  be  tired;  I  got  some  cold  water  in  here, 
fresh  from  the  well." 

"  No,  I'll  not  stop,"  replied  Mr.  Hotchkiss.  "  It  is 
late,  and  I  must  be  up  early  in  the  morning." 

"  Well,  tell  me  'bout  Ike,"  said  Edie.  "  You  got  'im 
in  the  league  all  right,  I  hope  ?  "  She  came  out  of  the 
gate,  as  she  said  this,  and  moved  nearer  to  Hotchkiss. 
In  her  hand  she  held  a  flower  of  some  kind,  and  with 
this  she  toyed  in  a  shamefaced  sort  of  way. 

"  Mr.  Varner  is  now  a  member  in  good  standing," 
replied  Hotchkiss,  "  and  I  think  he  will  do  good  work 
for  his  race  and  for  the  party." 

Edie  moved  a  step  or  two  nearer  to  him,  toying  with 
her  flower.  Now,  Mr.  Hotchkiss  was  a  genuine  reformer 
of  the  most  approved  type,  and,  as  such,  he  was  entitled 

[  298  ] 


FATE     OF     MR.     HOTCHKISS 

to  as  many  personal  and  private  fads  as  he  chose  to  have. 
He  was  a  vegetarian,  holding  to  the  theory  that  meat 
is  a  poison,  though  he  was  not  averse  to  pie  for  break 
fast.  His  pet  aversion,  leaving  alcohol  out  of  the  ques 
tion,  was  all  forms  of  commercial  perfumes.  As  Edie 
came  close  to  him,  he  caught  a  whiff  of  her  cologne- 
scented  clothes,  and  his  anger  rose. 

"  Why  will  you  ladies,"  he  said,  "  persist  in  putting 
that  sort  of  stuff  on  you  ?  " 

"  I  dunner  what  you  mean,"  replied  Edie,  edging  still 
closer  to  Hotchkiss. 

"  Why  that  infernal " 

He  never  finished  the  sentence.  A  pistol-shot  rang 
out,  and  Hotchkiss  fell  like  a  log.  Edie,  fearing  a  sim 
ilar  fate  for  herself,  ran  screaming  down  the  road,  and 
never  paused  until  she  had  reached  the  dwelling  of  Mah- 
lon  Butts.  She  fell  in  the  door  when -it  was  opened  and 
lay  on  the  floor,  moaning  and  groaning.  When  she 
could  be  persuaded  to  talk,  her  voice  could  have  been 
heard  a  mile. 

"  They've  killt  him !  "  she  screamed ;  "  they've  killt 
him !  an'  he  was  scch  a  good  man !  Oh,  he  was  sech  a 
good  man !  " 


[  299  ] 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-THREE 


Mr.  Sanders  Searches  for  Evidence 

A  HE  news  of  the  shooting  of  Hotchkiss  spread  like 
wildfire,  and  startled  the  community,  giving  rise  to 
various  emotions.  It  created  consternation  among  the 
negroes,  who  ran  to  and  fro,  and  hither  and  yonder,  like 
wild  creatures.  Many  of  the  whites,  especially  the 
thoughtless  and  the  irresponsible,  contemplated  the 
tragedy  with  a  certain  degree  of  satisfaction,  feeling 
that  a  very  dangerous  man  had  been  providentially  re 
moved.  On  the  other  hand,  the  older  and  more  con 
servative  citizens  deplored  it,  knowing  well  that  it  would 
.  involve  the  whole  community  in  trouble,  and  give  it  a 
conspicuous  place  in  the  annals  which  radical  rage  was 
daily  preparing,  in  order  still  further  to  inflame  the 
public  mind  of  the  North. 

Bridalbin  promptly  disappeared  from  Shady  Dale, 
but  returned  in  a  few  days,  accompanied  by  a  squad  of 
soldiers.  It  was  the  opinion  of  the  community,  when 
these  fresh  troops  made  their  appearance,  that  they  were 
to  be  added  to  the  detachment  stationed  in  the  town ;  but 
this  proved  to  be  a  mistake.  Two  nights  after  their  ar 
rival,  when  the  officer  in  charge,  who  was  a  member  of 
the  military  commander's  staff,  had  investigated  the 

30° 


MR.    SANDERS     SEARCHES 

killing,  he  gave  orders  for  the  arrest  of  Gabriel  Tolliver, 
Francis  Bethune,  Paul  Tomlin,  and  Jesse  Tidwell.  The 
arrests  were  made  at  night,  and  so  quietly  that  when 
the  town  awoke  to  the  facts,  and  was  ready  to  display 
its  rage  at  such  a  high-handed  proceeding,  the  soldiers 
and  their  prisoners  were  well  on  their  way  to  Malvern. 

The  people  felt  that  something  must  be  done,  but 
what?  One  by  one  the  citizens  instinctively  assembled 
at  the  court-house.  No  call  was  issued ;  the  meeting  was 
not  preconcerted;  there  was  no  common  understanding; 
but  all  felt  that  there  must  be  a  conference,  a  consulta 
tion,  and  there  was  no  place  more  convenient  than  the 
old  court-house,  where  for  long  years  justice  had  been 
simply  and  honestly  administered. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  trying  hour.  Meriwether  Clopton 
and  his  daughter  Sarah  were  the  first  to  make  their  ap 
pearance  at  the  court-house,  and  it  was  perhaps  owing 
to  their  initiative  that  a  large  part  of  the  community 
shortly  assembled  there.  At  first,  there  was  some  talk 
of  a  rescue,  and  this  would  have  been  feasible,  no  doubt ; 
but  while  Lawyer  Tidwell  was  violently  advocating  this 
course,  Mr.  Sanders  mounted  the  judge's  bench,  and 
rapped  loudly  for  order.  When  this  had  been  secured, 
he  moved  that  Meriwether  Clopton  be  called  to  the  chair. 
The  motion  had  as  many  seconds  as  there  were  men  in 
the  room,  for  the  son  of  the  First  Settler  was  as  well- 
beloved  and  as  influential  as  his  father  had  been. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  after  thanking  the  meeting 
for  the  honour  conferred  upon  him,  "  I  feel  as  if  we  were 
all  in  the  midst  of  a  dream,  and  therefore  I  am  at  a  loss 

[  301  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

what  to  say  to  you.  As  it  is  all  very  real,  and  far  re 
moved  from  the  regions  of  dreams,  the  best  that  I  can 
do  is  to  counsel  moderation  and  calmness.  The  blow 
that  has  fallen  on  a  few  of  us  strikes  at  all,  for  what  has 
happened  to  some  of  our  young  men  may  easily  happen 
to  the  rest,  especially  if  we  meet  this  usurpation  of  civil 
justice  with  measures  that  are  violent  and  retaliatory. 
We  can  only  hope  that  the  Hand  that  has  led  us  into 
the  sea  of  troubles  by  which  we  have  been  overwhelmed 
of  late  will  lead  us  safely  out  again.  For  myself,  I  am 
fully  persuaded  that  what  now  seems  to  be  a  calamity 
will,  in  some  shape  or  other,  make  us  all  stronger  and 
better.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  this  has  been  my  experi 
ence.  You  need  have  no  fears  for  the  welfare  of  the 
young  men.  They  may  be  deprived  for  a  time  of  the 
comforts  to  which  they  arc  accustomed,  but  their  safety 
is  assured.  They  will  probably  be  tried  before  a  mili 
tary  court,  but  if  there  is  a  spark  of  justice  in  such  a 
tribunal,  our  young  men  will  shortly  be  restored  to  us. 
We  all  know  that  these  lads  never  dreamed  of  assassina 
tion,  and  this  is  what  the  killing  of  this  unfortunate  man 
amounts  to.  We  have  met  here  to-day,  not  to  discuss 
measures  of  vengeance  and  retaliation,  but  to  consult  to 
gether  as  to  the  best  means  of  securing  evidence  of  the 
innocence  of  the  young  men.  Speaking  for  myself,  I 
think  it  would  be  well  to  place  the  whole  matter  in  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Sanders,  leaving  him  to  act  as  he  thinks 
best." 

This  was  agreed  to  by  the  meeting,  more  than  one  of 
the  audience  declaring  loudly  that  Mr.  Sanders  was  the 

F   302   1 


MR.    SANDERS    SEARCHES 

very  man  for  the  occasion.  By  unanimous  agreement 
it  was  decided  that  one  of  the  most  distinguished  lawyers 
in  the  State  should  be  retained  to  defend  the  young  men 
and  that  he  should  be  authorised  to  employ  such  assist 
ant  counsel  as  he  might  deem  necessary. 

It  was  the  personality  of  Meriwether  Clopton,  rather 
than  his  remarks,  that  soothed  and  subdued  the  crowd 
which  had  assembled  at  the  court-house.  He  was  se 
renity  itself;  his  attitude  breathed  hope  and  courage; 
and  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  in  his  very  gestures,  there 
was  a  certainty  that  the  young  men  would  not  be  made 
the  victims  of  political  necessity.  In  his  own  mind, 
however,  he  was  not  at  all  sure  that  the  radical  leaders 
at  Washington  would  not  be  driven  by  their  outrageous 
rancour  to  do  the  worst  that  could  be  done. 

As  may  be  supposed,  Mr.  Sanders  did  not  allow  the 
grass  to  grow  under  his  feet.  He  was  the  first  to  leave 
the  court-room,  but  he  was  followed  and  overtaken  by 
Silas  Tomlin. 

"  Be  jigged,  Silas,  ef  you  don't  look  like  you've  seed 
a  ghost !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanders,  whose  good-humour 
had  been  restored  by  the  prospect  of  prompt  action. 

"  Worse  than  that,  Sanders ;  Paul  has  been  carried 
off.  If  you'll  fetch  him  back,  you  may  show  me  an 
army  of  ghosts.  But  I  wanted  to  see  you,  Sanders, 
about  this  business.  You'll  need  money,  and  if  you 
can't  get  it  anywhere  else,  come  to  me;  I'll  take  it  as  a 
favour." 

Mr.  Sanders  frowned  and  pursed  his  lips  as  if  he  were 
about  to  whistle.  "  You  mean,  Silas,  that  if  I  need 

[  303  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

money,  and  can't  beg,  nor  borry,  nor  steal  it,  maybe 
you'll  loan  me  a  handful  of  shinplasters.  Why,  man,  I 
wouldn't  give  you  the  wroppin's  of  my  little  finger  for 
all  the  money  you  eber  seed  or  saved.  Do  you  think  that 
I'm  try  in'  to  make  money  ?  " 

"  But  there'll  be  expenses,  William,  and  money's  none 
too  plentiful  among  our  people."  Silas  spoke  in  a 
pleading  tone,  and  his  lips  were  trembling  from  grief  or 
excitement. 

Noticing  this,  Mr.  Sanders  relented  a  little  in  his  at 
titude  toward  the  man.  "  Well,  Silas,  when  I  reely  need 
money,  I'll  call  on  you.  But  don't  lose  any  sleep  on 
account  of  that  promise,  for  it'll  be  many  a  long  day 
before  I  call  on  you." 

With  that,  Mr.  Sanders  mounted  his  horse — known 
far  and  wide  as  the  Racking  Roan — and  was  soon  out  of 
sight.  His  destination  was  the  residence  of  Mahlon 
Butts,  and  in  no  long  time  his  horse  had  covered  the  dis 
tance. 

Although  the  murder  of  Hotchkiss  was  more  than  a 
week  old,  a  considerable  number  of  negroes  were  loung 
ing  about  the  premises  of  Judge  Butts — he  had  once 
been  a  Justice  of  the  Peace — and  in  the  road  near  by, 
drawn  to  the  spot  by  that  curious  fascination  which 
murder  or  death  exerts  on  the  ignorant.  They  moved 
about  with  something  like  awe,  talking  in  low  tones  or 
in  whispers.  Mr.  Sanders  tied  his  horse  to  a  swinging 
limb  and  went  in.  He  was  met  at  the  door  by  Mahlon 
himself. 

"  Why,  come  in,  William ;  come  in  an'  make  yourself 
[  304  ] 


MR.    SANDERS     SEARCHES 

welcome.  You  uv  heard  of  the  trouble,  I  make  no  doubt, 
or  you  wouldn't  be  here.  It's  turriblc,  William,  turrible, 
for  a  man  to  be  overcome  in  this  off-hand  way,  wi'  no 
time  for  to  say  his  pra's  or  even  so  much  as  to  be  sorry 
for  his  misdeeds." 

Judge  Butts's  dignity  was  of  the  heavy  and  op 
pressive  kind.  His  enunciation  was  slow  and  delib 
erate,  and  he  had  a  way  of  looking  over  his  spectacles, 
and  nodding  his  head  to  give  emphasis  to  his  words. 
This  dignity,  which  was  fortified  in  ignorance,  had  re 
ceived  a  considerable  reinforcement  from  the  fact  that 
he  was  a  candidate  for  a  county  office  on  the  Republican 
ticket. 

Before  Mr.  Sanders  could  make  any  reply  to  Mah- 
lon's  opening  remark,  Mrs.  Becky  Butts  came  into  the 
room.  She  was  not  in  a  very  good  humour,  and,  at  first, 
she  failed  to  see  Mr.  Sanders. 

"  Mahlon,  if  you  don't  go  and  run  that  gang  of  nig 
gers  off,  I'll  take  the  shot-gun  to  'em.  They've  been 
hanging  around — why,  howdye,  Mr.  Sanders?  I  cer 
tainly  am  glad  to  see  you.  I  hope  you'll  stay  to  dinner ; 
it  looks  like  old  times  to  see  you  in  the  house." 

There  was  something  about  Mrs.  Becky  Butts  that 
was  eminently  satisfying  to  the  eye.  She  was  younger 
than  her  husband,  who,  at  fifty,  appeared  to  be  an  old 
man.  Her  sympathies  were  so  keen  and  persistent  that 
they  played  boldly  in  her  face,  running  about  over  her 
features  as  the  sunshine  ripples  on  a  pond  of  clear 
water. 

"  Set  down,  Becky,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  after  he  had 
F  305  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

responded  to  her  salutation.  "  I've  come  to  find  out 
about  the  killing  of  that  feller  Hotchkiss." 

"  You  may  well  call  it  killin',  William,  bekaze  Friend 
Hotchkiss  was  stone  dead  a  few  hours  arter  the  fatal 
shot  was  fired,"  declared  Judge  Butts. 

"  Where  was  the  killin'  done  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Sanders. 
He  addressed  himself  to  Mrs.  Butts,  but  Mahlon  made 
reply. 

"  We  found  him,  William,  right  spang  in  front  of 
Ike  Varner's  cabin — right  thar,  an'  nowhar  else.  He 
war  doin'  his  level  best  for  to  git  on  his  feet,  an'  he  tried 
to  talk,  but  not  more  than  two  or  three  words  did  he 
say." 

"  Well,  what  did  he  say?  "  inquired  Mr.  Sanders. 

"  It  was  the  same  thing  ever'  time — '  Why,  Tolliver, 
Tolliver ' — them  was  his  very  words." 

"  Are  you  right  certain  about  that,  Mahlon?  "  asked 
Mr.  Sanders. 

"  As  certain  an'  shore,  William,  as  I  am  that  I'm  set- 
tin'  here.  Ef  he  said  it  once,  he  said  it  a  dozen  times." 

"  I  reckon  maybe  he  had  been  talking  with  young 
Tolliver  before  he  came  from  town,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Butts,  noting  Mr.  Sanders's  serious  countenance. 

"  Whar  was  he  wounded,  Becky?"  asked  Mr.  San 
ders. 

"  Between  the  left  ear  and  the  temple." 

"  Becky's  right,  William,"  was  the  solemn  comment 
of  Mahlon.  "  Yes,  sir,  he  was  hit  betwixt  the  year  an' 
the  temple." 

"  Did  you  have  a  doctor?  " 

r  306  i 


MR.     SANDERS    SEARCHES 

"  We  sent  for  one,  but  if  he  come,  we  never  saw  him," 
Mrs.  Butts  replied. 

"  Would  you  uv  believed  it,  William  ?  An'  yit  it's 
the  plain  truth,"  said  Mahlon. 

"  What  time  was  Hotchkiss  killed?  " 

"  'Bout  half-past  ten ;  maybe  a  little  sooner." 

This  was  all  the  information  Mr.  Sanders  could  get, 
and  it  was  a  great  deal  more  than  he  wanted  in  one  par 
ticular.  He  knew  that  Gabriel  Tolliver  was  innocent  of 
the  killing ;  but  the  fact  that  his  name  was  called  by  the 
dying  man  was  almost  as  damaging  as  an  ante-mortem 
accusation  would  have  been. 

Mr.  Sanders  rode  to  Ike  Varner's  cabin,  a  few  hun 
dred  yards  away.  Tying  his  horse  to  the  fence  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  road,  he  entered  the  house  without 
ceremony. 

"  Who  is  that?  La!  Mr.  Sanders,  you  sho  did  skeer 
me,"  exclaimed  Edie.  "  Why,  when  did  you  come  ?  I 
would  as  soon  have  spected  to  see  a  ghost !  " 

"  You'll  see  'em  here  before  you're  much  older,"  re 
plied  Mr.  Sanders,  grimly.  "  They  ain't  fur  off. 
Wher's  Ike?" 

"  La !  ef  you  know  anything  about  Ike  you  know  more 
than  I  docs.  I  ain't  laid  eyes  on  that  nigger  man,  not 

sence "       She  paused,  and  looked  at  Mr.   Sanders 

with  a  smile. 

"  Not  sence  the  night  Hotchkiss  was  killed,"  said 
Mr.  Sanders,  completing  her  sentence  for  her. 

"  La,  Mr.  Sanders!  how'd  you  know  that?  But  it's 
the  truth :  I  ain't  never  seen  Ike  sence  that  night." 

[  307  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  I  know  a  heap  more'n  you  think  I  do,"  Mr.  Sanders 
remarked.  "  Hotchkiss  was  talkin'  to  you  at  the  gate 
thar  when  he  was  shot.  What  was  he  sayin'  ?  " 

The  woman  was  a  bright  mulatto,  and,  remembering 
her  own  designs  and  desires  so  far  as  Hotchkiss  was  con 
cerned,  her  face  flushed  and  she  turned  her  eyes  away. 
"  Why,  he  wan't  sayin'  a  word,  hardly ;  I  was  doin'  all 
the  talkin'.  I  was  settin'  on  the  step  there,  an'  I  seen 
him  passin',  an'  hollad  at  him.  I  ast  him  if  he  wouldn't 
have  a  drink  of  cold  water,  an'  he  said  he  would,  an' 
I  took  it  out  to  the  gate,  an'  while  I  was  talkin',  they 
shot  him.  They  certainly  did." 

"  Did  you  ask  Ike  about  it?  "  Mr.  Sanders  inquired. 

"  La !  I  ain't  seen  Ike  sence  that  night,"  exclaimed 
Edie,  flirting  her  apron  with  a  coquettish  air  that  was 
by  no  means  unbecoming. 

"  Now,  Edie,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  with  a  frown  to 
match  the  severity  of  his  voice,  "  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do,  that  when  you  heard  the  pistol  go  off,  and  saw  what 
had  happened,  you  run  in  the  house  an'  flung  your  apern 
over  your  head."  It  was  a  wild  guess,  but  it  was  close 
to  the  truth. 

"  La,  Mr.  Sanders !  you  talk  like  you  was  watchin' 
me.  'Twa'n't  my  apern,  'twas  my  han's.  I  didn't  have 
on  no  apern  that  night;  I  had  on  my  Sunday  frock." 

"  An'  you  know  jest  as  well  as  I  do  that  Ike  come  in 
here  an'  stood  over  you,  an'  said  somethin'  to  you." 

"  No,  sir;  he  didn't  stand  over  me;  I  was  here  " — she 
illustrated  his  position  by  her  movements — "  an'  when 
Ike  come  in,  he  stood  over  there." 

I    308   I 


MR.  SANDERS  SEARCHES 

,     "What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  said,"  replied  Edie,  smiling  to  show  her  pretty 
teeth, '  If  you  want  him,  go  out  there  an'  git  him.'  Yes, 
sir,  he  said  that.  La !  I  never  heard  of  a  nigger  killin' 
a  white  man  on  that  account ;  did  you,  Mr.  Sanders  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  did,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders, 
regarding  her  with  an  expression  akin  to  pity.  "  But 
times  has  changed." 

"  They  certainly  has,"  said  Edie.  "  I  tell  you  what, 
Mr.  Sanders,  I  don't  b'live  Mr.  Hotchkiss  was  a  man." 
She  looked  up  at  Mr.  Sanders,  as  she  made  the  remark. 
Catching  his  eye,  she  exclaimed — "  I  don't ;  I  declare  I 
don't !  I  never  will  believe  it."  She  gave  a  chirruping 
laugh,  as  she  made  the  remark. 

It  is  to  be  doubted  if,  in  the  history  of  the  world,  a 
man  ever  had  a  higher  compliment  paid  to  his  devotion  "* 
and  his  singleness  of  purpose. 

As  Mr.  Sanders  mounted  his  horse,  Edie  watched  him, 
and,  as  she  stood  with  her  arms  extended,  each  hand 
grasping  a  side  of  the  doorway,  smiling  and  showing 
her  white  teeth,  she  presented  a  picture  of  wild  and  ir 
responsible  beauty  that  an  artist  would  have  admired. 
Finally,  she  turned  away  with  a  laugh,  saying,  "  I  de 
clare  that  Mr.  Sanders  is  a  sight !  " 

In  due  time  the  Racking  Roan  carried  Mr.  Sanders 
across  Murder  Creek  to  the  plantation  of  Felix  Samples, 
where  the  news  of  the  arrest  of  the  young  men  occa 
sioned  both  grief  and  indignation.  They  had  arrived 
at  the  dance  about  nine  o'clock,  and  had  started  home 
between  eleven  and  twelve.  Gabriel,  Mr.  Samples  said, 

[  309  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

was  not  one  of  the  party.  Indeed,  he  remembered  very 
well  that  when  some  of  the  young  people  asked  for  Ga 
briel,  Francis  Bethune  had  said  that  the  town  had  been 
searched  for  Gabriel,  and  he  was  not  to  be  found. 

Evidently,  there  was  no  case  against  the  three  young 
men  who  had  gone  to  the  dance.  They  could  prove  an 
alibi  by  fifty  persons.  "  Be  jigged  ef  I  don't  b'lieve 
Gabriel  is  in  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Sanders  to  himself  as  he 
was  going  back  to  Shady  Dale.  "  An'  that's  what 
comes  of  moonin'  aroun'  an'  loafin'  about  in  the  woods 
wi'  the  wild  creeturs." 

Mr.  Sanders  went  straight  to  the  Lumsdcn  Place  to 
consult  with  Gabriel's  grandmother.  Meriwether  Clop- 
ton  and  Miss  Fanny  Tomlin  were  already  there,  each 
having  called  for  the  purpose  of  offering  her  such  com 
fort  and  consolation  as  they  could.  This  fine  old  gen 
tlewoman  had  had  the  care  of  Gabriel  almost  from  the 
time  he  was  born,  for  his  birth  left  his  mother  an  in 
valid,  the  victim  of  one  of  those  mysterious  complaints 
that  sometimes  seize  on  motherhood.  It  was  well  known 
in  that  community,  whose  members  knew  whatever  was 
to  be  known  about  one  another,  that  Lucy  Lumsden's 
mind  and  heart  were  wholly  centred  on  Gabriel  and  his 
affairs.  She  was  a  frail,  delicate  woman,  gentle  in  all 
her  ways,  and  ever  ready  to  efface  herself,  as  it  were, 
and  give  precedence  to  others.  Her  manners  were  so 
fine  that  they  seemed  to  cling  to  her  as  the  perfume 
clings  to  the  rose. 

So  these  old  friends — Meriwether  Clopton,  and  Miss 
Fanny  Tomlin — considered  it  to  be  their  duty,  as  it  was 

[  310  ] 


MR.     SANDERS    SEARCHES 

their  pleasure,  to  call  on  Lucy  Lumsden  in  her  trouble. 
They  expected  to  find  her  in  a  state  of  collapse,  but  they 
found  her  walking  about  the  house,  apparently  as  calm 
as  a  June  morning. 

"  Good-morning,  Meriwether,"  she  said  pleasantly ; 
"  it  is  a  treat  indeed,  and  a  rare  one,  to  see  you  in  this 
house.  And  here  is  Fanny !  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my 
dear.  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  come  to  an  old  woman 
who  is  in  trouble.  I  think  we  are  all  in  trouble  together. 
No,  don't  sit  here,  my  dear;  the  library  is  cooler,  and 
you  must  be  warm.  Come  into  the  library,  Meriwether." 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  look  twenty  years  younger," 
said  Miss  Fanny  Tomlin. 

"  Do  I,  indeed?  Then  trouble  must  be  good  for  me. 
Still,  I  don't  appreciate  it.  I  am  an  old  woman,  my 
dear,  and  all  the  years  of  my  life  I  have  had  a  contempt 
for  those  who  fly  into  a  rage,  or  lose  their  tempers.  And 
now,  look  at  me !  Never  in  all  your  days  have  you  seen 
a  woman  in  such  a  rage  as  I  have  felt  all  day  and  still 
feel!" 

"  The  idea !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Fanny.  "  Why,  you 
look  as  cool  as  a  cucumber." 

"  Yes,  the  idea !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Lumsden.  "  If  I  had 
those  miserable  creatures  in  my  power,  do  you  know  what 
I  would  do  ?  Do  you  know,  Meriwether  ?  " 

"  I  can't  imagine,  Lucy,"  he  replied  gently.  Pie  saw 
that  the  apparent  calmness  of  Gabriel's  grandmother 
was  simply  the  result  of  suppressed  excitement. 

"  Well,  I'll  not  tell  you  if  you  don't  know."  She 
seated  herself,  but  rose  immediately,  and  went  to  the 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

window,  where  she  stood  looking  out,  and  tapping  gently 
on  the  pane  with  her  fingers.  She  stood  there  only  a 
short  time.  "  You  may  imagine  that  I  am  nervous," 
she  said,  turning  away  from  the  window,  "  but  I  am 
not."  She  held  out  her  hand  to  illustrate.  It  was  frail, 
but  firm.  "  No,"  she  went  on,  "  I  am  not  nervous ;  I 
am  simply  furious.  I  know  what  you  came  for,  my 
friends,  and  it  is  very  kind  of  you ;  but  it  is  useless.  I 
love  you  both  well,  and  I  know  what  you  would  say. 
I  have  said  such  things  to  my  friends,  and  thought  I  was 
performing  a  duty." 

"  Well,  you  know  the  old  saying,  Lucy,"  said  Meri- 
wether  Clopton.  "  Misery  loves  company.  We  are  all 
in  the  same  boat,  and  it  seems  to  be  a  leaky  one.  I  have 
heard  it  said  that  a  woman's  wit  is  sometimes  better  than 
a  man's  wisdom,  and,  for  my  part,  I  have  not  come  to 
see  if  you  needed  to  be  consoled,  but  to  find  out  your 
views." 

"  I  have  none/'  she  said  somewhat  curtly.  "  Show 
me  a  piece  of  blue  cloth,  and  I'll  tear  it  to  pieces.  That 
is  the  only  thought  or  idea  I  have." 

"  Well,  that  doesn't  help  us  much,"  Meriwether  Clop- 
ton  remarked. 

At  that  moment,  Mr.  Sanders  was  announced,  and 
word  was  sent  to  him  to  come  right  in.  "  Howdy?  every 
body,"  he  said  in  his  informal  way,  as  he  entered  the 
room.  He  was  warm,  and  instead  of  leaving  his  hat  on 
the  hall-rack,  he  had  kept  it  in  his  hand,  and  was  using 
it  as  a  fan.  "  Miss  Lucy,"  he  said,  "  I  won't  take  up 

two  minutes  of  your  time " 

f   312   ] 


MR.     SANDERS    SEARCHES 

"  Mr.  Sanders,  you  may  take  up  two  hours  of  my 
time.  Time ! "  Mrs.  Lumsden  exclaimed  bitterly — 
"  why,  time  is  about  all  I  have  left." 

"  Oh,  it  ain't  nigh  as  bad  as  you  think,"  remarked 
Mr.  Sanders,  as  cheerfully  as  he  could.  "  But  I  want 
to  settle  a  p'int  or  two.  Do  you  remember  what  time  it 
was  when  Gabriel  come  home  the  night  Hotchkiss  was 
killed?" 

Mrs.  Lumsden  reflected  a  moment.  "  Why,  he  went 
out  directly  after  supper,  and  came  in — well,  I  don't 
remember  when  he  came  in.  I  must  have  been  asleep." 

"  Um-m,"  grunted  Mr.  Sanders. 

"  Is  it  important?  "  Mrs.  Lumsden  asked. 

"  It  may  turn  out  to  be  right  down  important,"  re 
plied  Mr.  Sanders,  and  then  he  said  no  more,  but  sat 
looking  at  the  floor,  and  wondering  how  Gabriel  could 
be  released  from  the  tangled  web  that  the  spider,  Cir 
cumstance,  had  woven  about  him. 

As  Mr.  Sanders  went  out,  he  met  Nan  at  the  door,  and 
he  was  amazed  at  the  change  that  had  come  over  her. 
Perplexity  and  trouble  looked  forth  from  her  eyes,  and 
there  was  that  in  her  face  that  Mr.  Sanders  had  never 
seen  there  before.  "  Why,  honey !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you 
look  like  you've  lost  your  best  friend." 

"Well,  perhaps  I  have.  Who  is  in  there?"  And 
when  Mr.  Sanders  told  her,  she  cried  out,  "  Oh,  why 
don't  they  leave  her  alone?  " 

"  Well,  they  ain't  pesterin'  her  much,  honey.  Go 
right  in.  Lucy  Lumsden  has  got  as  much  grit  as  a 
major  gener'l,  an'  she'll  be  glad  to  see  you." 

[  313  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

But  Nan  stood  staring  at  Mr.  Sanders,  as  if  she  want 
ed  to  ask  him  a  question,  and  couldn't  find  words  for  it. 
Her  face  was  pale,  and  she  had  the  appearance  of  one 
who  is  utterly  forspent. 

"  Why,  honey,  what  ails  you  ?  I  never  seed  you  look- 
in'  like  this  before." 

"  You've  never  seen  me  ill  before,"  answered  Nan. 
"  I  thought  the  walk  would  do  me  good,  but  the  sun — 
oh,  Mr.  Sanders !  please  don't  ask  me  anything  else." 

With  that,  she  ran  up  the  steps  very  rapidly  for  an 
ill  person,  and  stood  a  moment  in  the  hallway. 

"Be  jigged  ef  she  ain't  wuss  hit  than  any  on  us!" 
declared  Mr.  Sanders,  to  himself,  as  he  turned  away. 
"  What  a  pity  that  she  had  to  go  an'  git  grown !  " 

Following  the  sound  of  voices,  Nan  went  into  the 
library.  Mrs.  Lumsden,  who  was  still  walking  about 
restlessly,  paused  and  tried  to  smile  when  she  saw  Nan; 
but  it  was  only  a  make-believe  smile.  Nan  went  directly 
to  her,  and  stood  looking  in  the  old  gentlewoman's  eyes. 
Then  she  kissed  her  quite  suddenly  and  impulsively. 

"  Nan,  you  must  be  ill,"  Miss  Fanny  Tomlin  declared. 

"  I  am,  Aunt  Fanny ;  I  am  not  feeling  well  at  all." 

"  Lie  there  on  the  sofa,  child,"  Mrs.  Lumsden  in 
sisted.  Taking  Nan  by  the  arm,  she  almost  forced  her 
to  lie  down. 

"  If  you-all  are  talking  secrets,  I'll  go  away,"  said 
Nan. 

"  No,  child,"  remarked  Mrs.  Lumsden;  "  we  are  talk 
ing  about  trouble,  and  trouble  is  too  common  to  be  much 
of  a  secret  in  this  world."  She  seated  herself  on  the 

[314] 


MR.     SANDERS    SEARCHES 

edge  of  the  sofa,  and  held  Nan's  hand,   caressing  it 
softly. 

"  This  is  the  way  I  used  to  cure  Gabriel,  when  he  was 
ill  or  weary,"  she  said  in  a  tone  too  low  for  the  others  to 
hear. 

"  Did  you  ?  "  whispered  Nan,  closing  her  eyes  with  a 
sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  This  is  the  second  time  I  have  been  able  to  sit  down 
since  breakfast/'  remarked  Mrs.  Lumsden. 

"  I  have  walked  miles  and  miles,"  replied  Nan,  wearily. 

There  was  a  noise  in  the  hall^  and  presently  Tasma 
Tid  peeped  cautiously  into  the  room.  "  Wey  you  done 
wit  Honey  Nan?  "  she  asked.  "  She  in  dis  house;  you 
ain'  kin  fool  we." 

"  Come  in,  and  behave  yourself  if  you  know  how," 
said  Mrs.  Lumsden.  "  Come  in,  Tid." 

"  How  come  we  name  Tid?  How  come  we  ain't  name 
Tasma  Tid?" 

No  one  thought  it  worth  while  to  make  any  reply  to 
this,  and  the  African  came  into  the  room,  acting  as  if 
she  were  afraid  some  one  would  jump  at  her.  "  Sit  in 
the  corner  there  at  the  foot  of  the  sofa,"  said  Mrs.  Lums 
den.  Tasma  Tid  complied  very  readily  with  this  com 
mand,  since  it  enabled  her  to  be  near  Nan.  The  African 
squatted  on  the  floor,  and  sat  there  motionless. 

Meriwether  Clopton  and  Miss  Fanny  went  away  after 
awhile,'  but  Mrs.  Lumsden  continued  to  sit  by  Nan, 
caressing  her  hand.  Not  a  word  was  said  for  a  long 
time,  but  the  silence  was  finally  broken  by  Nan,  who 
spoke  to  the  African. 

[  315   ] 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

"  Tasma  Tid,  I  want  you  to  go  home  and  tell  Miss 
Johnny  that  I  will  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  and  the 
night  with  Grandmother  Lumsden." 

"  Don't  keer ;  we  comin'  back,"  said  Tasma  Tid. 

"  Yes,  come  back,"  said  Mrs.  Lumsden ;  whereupon, 
the  African  whisked  out  of  the  room  as  quick  as  a  flash. 

After  Tasma  Tid  had  gone,  a  silence  fell  on  the  house 
— a  silence  so  profound  that  Nan  could  hear  the  great 
clock  ticking  in  the  front  hall,  and  the  bookshelves 
cracked  just  as  they  do  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 

"  If  I  had  known  what  was  going  to  happen  when 
Gabriel  came  and  kissed  me  good-bye,"  said  Mrs.  Lums 
den,  after  awhile,  "  I  would  have  gone  out  there  where 
those  men  were,  and — well,  I  don't  know  what  I  wouldn't 
have  done !  " 

"  Didn't  Gabriel  tell  you?    Why "     Nan  paused. 

"  Not  he !  Not  Gabriel !  "  cried  Mrs.  Lumsden  in  a 
voice  full  of  pride.  "  He  wanted  to  spare  his  grand 
mother  one  night's  worry,  and  he  did." 

"  Didn't  you  know  when  he  kissed  you  good-night  that 
something  was  wrong?"  Nan  inquired. 

"How  should  I?  Why,  he  sometimes  comes  and 
kisses  me  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  even  after  he  has 
gone  to  bed.  He  says  he  sleeps  better  afterwards." 

What  was  there  in  this  simple  statement  to  cause  Nan 
to  catch  her  breath,  and  seize  the  hand  that  was  caressing 
her.  For  one  thing,  it  presented  the  tender  side  of  Ga 
briel's  nature  in  a  new  light ;  and  for  the  rest — well,  who 
shall  pretend  to  fathom  a  young  woman's  heart? 

"  Yes,  he  was  always  doing  something  of  that  kind," 
f  316  1 


MR.     SANDERS    SEARCHES 

remarked  the  grandmother  proudly ;  "  and  I  have  often 
thought  that  he  should  have  been  a  girl." 

"  A  girl !  "  cried  Nan. 

"  Yes ;  he  will  marry  some  woman  who  doesn't  appreci 
ate  his  finer  qualities — the  tenderness  and  affection  that 
he  tries  to  hide  from  everybody  but  his  grandmother; 
and  he  will  go  about  with  a  hungry  heart,  and  his  wife 
will  never  suspect  it.  I  am  afraid  I  dislike  her  already." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that !  "  Nan  implored. 

"  But  if  he  was  a  girl,"  the  grandmother  went  on, 
"  he  would  be  better  prepared  to  endure  coldness  and 
neglect.  This  is  partly  what  we  were  born  for,  my  dear, 
as  you  will  find  out  one  day  for  yourself ." 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-FOUR 


Captain  Falconer  Makes  Suggestions 

J.T  was  not  often  that  Mr.  Sanders  had  a  surprise,  but 
he  found  one  awaiting  him  when  he  left  the  Lumsden 
Place,  and  started  in  the  direction  of  home.  He  had  not 
taken  twenty  steps  before  he  met  the  young  Captain 
who  had  charge  of  the  detachment  of  Federal  troops 
stationed  at  Shady  Dale. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Sanders,  I  believe,"  he  said  without  cere 
mony.  "  My  name  is  Falconer.  I  have  just  been  to 
call  on  Mr.  Clop  ton,  but  they  tell  me  there  that  he  is 
at  Mrs.  Lumsden's." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  go  there,"  said  Mr. 
Sanders,  bluntly.  "  The  lady  is  in  a  considerbul  state 
of  mind  about  her  gran'son." 

"  It  is  a  miserable  piece  of  business  all  the  way 
through,"  remarked  Captain  Falconer.  There  was  a 
,  note  of  sympathy  in  his  voice,  which  Mr.  Sanders  could 
not  fail  to  catch,  and  it  interested  him. 

"  I  called  upon  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Claiborne,  for  the 
first  time  to-day,"  the  Captain  went  on.  "  She  has  in 
vited  me  to  tea  often,  but  I  have  refused  the  invitation 
on  account  of  the  state  of  feeling  here.  I  know  how 
high  it  is.  It  is  natural,  of  course,  but  it  is  not  justifi- 

[  318  ] 


FALCONER   MAKES    SUGGESTIONS 

able.  Take  my  case,  for  instance:  I  am  a  Democrat, 
and  I  come  from  a  family  of  Democrats,  who  have  never 
voted  anything  else  but  the  Democratic  ticket,  except 
when  Henry  Clay  was  a  candidate,  and  when  Lincoln 
was  running  for  a  second  term." 

"  You  don't  tell  me !  "  cried  Mr.  Sanders,  with  genuine 
astonishment. 

"  It  is  a  fact,"  said  Captain  Falconer,  with  emphasis. 
"  If  you  think  that  I,  or  any  of  the  men  under  me,  or 
any  of  the  men  who  fought  at  all,  intended  to  bring 
about  such  a  condition  as  now  exists  in  this  part  of  the 
country,  you  are  doing  us  a  great  wrong.  Don't  mis 
take  me!  I  am  not  apologising  for  the  part  I  took.  I 
would  do  it  all  over  again  a  hundred  times  if  necessary. 
Yet  I  do  not  believe  in  negro  suffrage,  and  I  abhor  and 
detest  every  exaction  that  the  politicians  in  Washington 
have  placed  upon  the  people  of  the  South." 

Mr.  Sanders  was  too  much  astonished  to  make  appro 
priate  comment.  He  could  only  stare  at  the  young  man. 
And  Captain  Falconer  was  very  good  to  look  upon.  He 
was  of  the  Kentucky  type,  tall,  broad-shouldered  and 
handsome.  His  undress  uniform  became  him  well,  and 
he  had  the  distinctive  and  pleasing  marks  that  West 
Point  leaves  on  all  young  men  who  graduate  at  the  acad 
emy  there. 

"  Well,  as  I  told  you,  I  called  on  my  cousin  to-day 
for  the  first  time,  and  after  we  had  talked  of  various 
matters,  especially  the  unfortunate  events  that  have  re 
cently  occurred,  she  insisted  that  I  make  it  my  business 
to  see  you  or  Mr.  Clopton.  She  told  me,"  the  Captain 

[  319  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

said,  with  a  pleasant  smile,  "  that  you  are  the  man  that 
kidnapped  Mr.  Lincoln." 

"  She's  wrong  about  that,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders ;  "  I'm 
the  man  that  didn't  kidnap  him.  But  I  want  to  ask  you : 
ain't  you  some  kin  to  John  Barbour  Falconer?  " 

"  He  was  my  father,"  the  Captain  replied. 

"  Well,  I've  heard  Meriwether  Clopton  talk  about  him 
hundreds  of  times.  They  ripped  around  in  Congress  to 
gether  before  the  war." 

"  Now,  that  is  very  interesting  to  me,"  said  the  Cap 
tain,  his  face  brightening. 

He  was  silent  for  some  time,  as  they  walked  slowly 
along,  and  during  this  period  of  silence,  Meriwether 
Clopton  came  up  behind  them.  He  would  have  passed 
on,  with  a  polite  inclination  of  his  head,  but  Mr.  San 
ders  drew  his  attention. 

"  Mr.  Clopton,"  he  said,  "  here's  a  gentleman  I  reckon 
you'd  like  to  know — Captain  Falconer.  He's  a  son  of 
John  Barbour  Falconer." 

"  Is  that  so?  "  exclaimed  Meriwether  Clopton,  a  won 
derful  change  passing  over  his  face.  "  Well,  I  am  glad 
to  see  a  son  of  my  dear  old  friend,  anywhere  and  at  any 
time."  He  shook  hands  very  cordially  with  the  Cap 
tain.  "Let  me  see — let  me  see:  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
your  first  name  is  Garnett;  you  were  named  after  your 
maternal  grandfather." 

"  That  is  true,  sir,"  replied  the  Captain,  with  a  boyish 
laugh  that  was  pleasing  to  the  ear — he  was  not  more 
than  thirty.  "  But  I  am  surprised  that  you  should  re 
member  these  things  so  well." 

f  320  1 


FALCONER   MAKES    SUGGESTIONS 

"  Why,  my  dear  sir,  it  is  not  surprising  at  all.  I 
have  dandled  you  on  my  knee  many  and  many  a  time; 
I  know  the  very  house,  yes,  the  very  room,  in  which  you 
were  born.  Some  of  the  happiest  hours  of  my  manhood- 
were  spent  with  your  father  and  mother  in  Washington. 
Your  father  is  dead,  I  believe.  Well,  he  was  a  good 
man ;  among  the  best  I  ever  knew.  What  of  your 
mother?  " 

"  She  has  broken  greatly,"  responded  the  Captain. 
"  The  war  was  a  great  burden  to  her.  She  was  a  Vir 
ginian,  you  know." 

"  Yes — yes !  "  said  Meriwether  Clopton.  "  The  war 
has  been  a  dreadful  nightmare  to  the  people  on  both 
sides ;  and  it  seems  to  be  still  going  on  disguised  as  pol-  -4- 
itics.  Only  last  night,  as  you  perhaps  know,  a  posse  of 
soldiers  arrested  and  carried  off  four  of  our  worthiest 
young  men." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  know  of  it  and  regret  it,"  responded  Cap 
tain  Falconer.  "  And  I  have  no  doubt  that  a  majority 
of  the  people  here  are  incensed  at  the  soldiers,  forget 
ting  that  they  are  the  mere  instruments  of  their  su 
periors,  and  that  their  superiors  themselves  take  their 
orders  from  other  superiors  who  are  engaged  in  the  game 
of  politics.  It  is  the  duty  of  a  soldier  to  blindly  obey 
orders.  To  pause  to  ask  a  question  would  be  charged 
to  a  spirit  of  insubordination.  The  army  is  at  the  beck 
and  call  of  what  is  called  the  Government,  and  to-day 
the  Government  happens  to  be  the  radical  contingent  of  t" 
the  Republican  Party.  A  soldier  may  detest  the  service 
he  is  called  on  to  perform,  but  he  is  bound  to  obey  orders. 

F  321   1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

I  can  answer  for  the  officer  who  was  sent  to  arrest  these 
young  men.  He  was  boiling  over  with  rage  because  he 
had  been  sent  here  on  such  an  errand." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  declared  Meriwether  Clop- 
ton,  with  great  heartiness. 

"  His  feelings  were  perfectly  natural,  sir,"  said  Cap 
tain  Falconer.  "  Take  the  army  as  it  stands  to-day, 
and  it  would  be  hard,  if  not  impossible,  to  find  a  man 
in  it  who  does  not  shrink  from  doing  the  dirty  work  of 
f  the  politicians.  Can  you  imagine  that  my  mission  here 
is  pleasant  to  me?  I  can  assure  you,  sir,  it  is  the  most 
disagreeable  duty  that  ever  fell  to  my  lot.  I  am  glad 
you  spoke  of  these  arrests.  At  your  convenience,  I 
should  like  to  have  a  little  conversation  with  you  and 
Mr.  Sanders  on  this  subject." 

"  There  is  no  time  like  the  present,"  replied  Meri 
wether  Clopton.  "  Will  you  come  with  me  to  my 
house?" 

"  Certainly,  sir ;  and  with  the  more  pleasure  because 
I  called  on  my  cousin  Mrs.  fclaiborne  to-day.  I  have 
forborne  to  call  on  her  heretofore  on  account  of  the 
prejudice  against  us.  But  these  arrests  made  it  neces 
sary  for  me  to  communicate  with  some  of  the  influential 
friends  of  the  young  men.  I  was  afraid  my  visit  to-day 
would  prove  to  be  embarrassing  to  her.  If  I  visit  you 
at  your  invitation,  the  probability  is  she  will  have  no 
social  penalty  to  pay.  I  know  what  the  feeling  is." 

Indeed,  he  knew  too  well.  He  had  passed  along  the 
streets  apparently  perfectly  oblivious  to  the  attitude  and 
movements  of  those  whom  he  chanced  to  meet,  but  all  his 

f  322  1 


FALCONER   MAKES    SUGGESTIONS 

faculties  had  been  awake,  for  he  was  a  man  of  the  keenest 
sensibilities.  He  had  seen  women  and  young  girls  curl 
their  lips  in  a  sneer,  and  toss  their  heads  in  scorn,  as  he 
passed  them  by ;  and  some  of  them  pulled  their  skirts 
aside,  lest  his  touch  should  pollute  them.  He  had  ob 
served  all  this,  and  he,  was  wounded  by  it ;  and  yet  he 
had  no  resentment.  (Being  a  Southerner  himself,  he 
knew  that  the  feelings  which  prompted  such  actions  were 
perfectly  natural,  the  fitting  accompaniment  of  the  hu-  . 
miliation  .which  the  radical  element  compelled  the  whites 
to  endure.  / 

In  the  course  of  his  long  and  frequent  walks  in  the 
countryside,  Captain  Falconer  had  made  the  acquaint 
ance  of  Gabriel  Tolliver,  in  whose  nature  the  spirit  of  a 
gypsy  vagrant  seemed  to  have  full  sway ;  and  Gabriel 
was  the  only  person  native  to  Shady  Dale,  except  the 
ancient  postmaster,  with  whom  the  young  officer  had  held 
communication.  He  seemed  to  be  cut  off  not  only  from 
all  social  inter  course,  but  even  from  acquaintanceship. 

"  You  may  rest  assured,"  declared  Meriwether  Clop- 
ton,  "  that  if  I  had  known  you  were  the  son  of  my  old 
friend,  I  would  have  sought  you  out,  much  as  I  detest 
the  motives  and  purposes  of  those  who  have  inaugurated 
this  era  of  bayonet  rule.  And  you  may  be  sure,  too, 
that  in  my  house  you  will  be  a  welcome  guest." 

"  I  appreciate  your  kindness,  sir,  and  I  shall  remem 
ber  it,"  said  Captain  Falconer. 

That  portion  of  Shady  Dale  which  was  moving  about 
the  streets  with  its  eyes  open  was  surprised  and  shocked 
— nay,  wellnigh  paralysed — to  see  the  "  Yankee  Cap- 

f   323  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

tain  "  on  parade,  as  it  were,  with  Meriwether  Clopton 
on  one  side  of  him,  and  Mr.  Sanders  on  the  other.  Yes, 
and  the  hand  of  the  son  of  the  First  Settler  ( could  their 
eyes  deceive  them?)  was  resting  familiarly  on  the  shoul 
der  of  the  "  Yankee !  "  Surely,  here  was  food  for 
thought.  Were  Meriwether  Clopton  and  Mr.  Sanders 
about  to  join  the  radicals?  Well,  well,  well!  At  last 
one  of  the  loungers,  a  man  of  middle  age,  who  had  seen 
service,  raised  his  voice  and  put  an  end  to  comment. 

"  You  can  bet  your  sweet  life,"  he  declared,  "  that 
Billy  Sanders  knows  what  he's  up  to.  He  may  not  git 
the  game  he's  after,  but  he'll  fetch  back  a  handful  of 
feathers  or  hair.  Mr.  Clopton  I  don't  know  so  well,  but 
I  was  in  the  war  wi'  Billy  Sanders,  and  I  wish  you'd  wake 
me  up  and  let  me  know  when  somebody  fools  him.  There 
ain't  a  living  man  on  the  continent,  nor  under  it  neither, 
that  can  git  on  his  blind  side." 

"  Now  you  are  whistlin' !  "  exclaimed  one  of  his  com 
panions,  and  this  seemed  to*  settle  the  matter.  If  Mr. 
Sanders  didn't  know  what  he  was  about,  why,  then, 
everybody  else  in  that  neighbourhood  might  as  well  give 
up,  "  and  let  natur'  cut  her  caper." 

"  I  understand  now  why  Mrs.  Claiborne  referred  me 
to  you,"  said  Captain  Falconer,  when  Mr.  Sanders  had 
related  the  nature  and  extent  of  the  information  which 
he  had  been  able  to  gather  during  the  morning. 

"  The  lady  is  kinder  partial,"  remarked  Mr.  Sanders, 
"  but  she's  as  bright  as  a  new  dollar,  somethin'  I  ain't 
seed  sence  I  cut  my  wisdom  teeth." 

"  You  already  know  what  I  intended  to  tell  you,"  said 
[  324  ] 


FALCONER   MAKES    SUGGESTIONS 

the  Captain.  But  it  turned  out,  nevertheless,  that  he 
was  able  to  give  them  some  very  startling  information. 
It  was  the  general  understanding  in  Shady  Dale  that 
the  prisoners  were  to  be  sent  to  Atlanta ;  but  the  military 
authorities,  fearing  an  attempt  at  rescue,  perhaps,  had 
ordered  them  to  be  sent  to  Fort  Pulaski,  below  Savan 
nah.  There  were  other  reasons,  the  Captain  explained, 
for  sending  the  young  men  there.  They  would  be  iso 
lated  from  their  friends,  and,  so  placed,  might  be  in 
duced  to  confess;  and  if  the  circumstances  surrounding 
them  were  not  sufficient  to  produce  such  a  result  then 
other  measures  were  to  be  taken. 

Meanwhile,  the  circumstantial  evidence  against  Ga 
briel  was  very  strong — stronger  even  than  Mr.  Sanders 
had  imagined.  Bridalbin,  whom  Captain  Falconer  knew 
as  Boring,  had  informed  that  officer  of  his  own  supposed 
discoveries  with  respect  to  Gabriel's  movements ;  and  the 
evidence  he  was  prepared  to  give,  coupled  with  the  fact 
that  Hotchkiss  had  pronounced  the  lad's  name  with  his 
last  breath,  made  out  a  case  of  exceptional  strength. 
Urged  on  by  the  vindictiveness  of  the  radical  leaders  in 
Congress,  it  was  more  than  probable  that  the  military 
court  before  which  the  young  men  were  to  be  tried,  would 
convict  any  or  all  of  them  on  much  slighter  evidence 
than  that  which  had  accumulated  against  Gabriel.  It 
was  all  circumstantial  evidence  of  course,  but  even  in  the 
civil  courts,  and  before  juries  made  up  of  their  peers, 
men  accused  of  crime  have  frequently  been  convicted  on 
circumstantial  evidence  alone — that  is  to  say,  on  prob 
ability. 

[  325  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Now,  this  is  what  I  wanted  to  say,"  remarked  Cap 
tain  Falconer,  as  they  sat  in  the  library  at  the  Clopton 
Place,  and  after  he  had  gone  over  the  evidence,  item  by 
item :  "  I  was  given  to  understand  by  the  officer  who 
made  the  arrests  that  I  would  shortly  be  transferred  to 
Savannah,  or,  rather,  to  Fort  Pulaski,  and  placed  in 
charge  of  the  prisoners,  the  idea  being  that  I,  knowing 
something  of  the  young  men,  would  be  able  to  extract  a 
confession  from  them  by  fair  means.  This  failing, 
there  are  others  who  could  be  depended  on  to  employ 
foul.  The  officer,  who  is  a  very  fine  soldier,  and  thor 
oughly  in  love  with  his  profession,  dropped  a  hint  that, 
all  other  means  failing,  the  young  men  are  to  be  put 
through  a  course  of  sprouts  in  order  to  extort  a  con 
fession." 

Mr.  Sanders  looked  hard  at  the  Captain ;  he  was  tak 
ing  the  young  man's  measure.  What  he  saw  or  divined 
must  have  been  satisfactory,  for  his  face,  which  had  been 
in  a  somewhat  puckered  condition,  as  he  himself  would 
have  expressed  it,  suddenly  cleared  up,  and  he  rose  from 
his  chair  with  a  laugh. 

"  Do  y ou-all  know  what  I've  gone  an'  done  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  You  do  so  many  clever  things,  William,  that  we  can 
not  possibly  imagine  what  the  newest  is,"  said  Meri- 
wether  Clopton. 

"  Well,  sir,  this  is  the  cleverest  yit.  I've  come  off 
from  Lucy  Lumsden's  an'  clean  forgot  my  hoss.  It's  a 
wonder  I  didn't  forgit  my  head.  Now,  you  might  'a' 
said,  an'  said  truly,  that  I'd  forgit  a  man,  or  a  'oman, 

[  326  ] 


FALCONER   MAKES    SUGGESTIONS 

but  when  William  H.  Sanders,  Esquire,  walks  off  in  the 
broad  light  of  day,  an'  forgits  his  hcss,  an'  that  hoss 
the  Rackin'  Roan,  you  may  know  that  his  thinkin'  ma 
chine  has  slipped  a  cog.  Ef  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  go 
right  arter  that  creetur.  I'm  mighty  glad  he  can't  talk 
— it's  about  the  only  thing  he  can't  do — bekaze  he'd  gi' 
me  a  long  an'  warm  piece  of  his  mind." 

Captain  Falconer  rose  also,  but  Meriwether  Clopton 
protested.  "  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  stay  to  din 
ner,"  he  said.  "  I  have  several  things  to  show  you — 
some  interesting  letters  from  your  father,  for  instance." 

"But  the  ladies?"  suggested  the  Captain,  with  a 
comically  doubtful  lift  of  the  eyebrows.  He  had  no 
notion  of  bearding  any  of  the  Confederate  lionesses  in 
their  dens.  "  You  know  how  they  regard  us  here." 

"  Only  my  daughter  Sarah  is  here.  She  knew  your 
father  well,  and  has  a  very  lively  remembrance  of  him. 
She  was  fifteen  when  you  were  three,  and  many  a  day 
she  was  your  volunteer  nurse." 

So  it  was  arranged  that  the  Captain  should  remain  to 
dinner,  and  it  may  be  said  that  he  spent  a  very  pleasant 
time,  after  his  long  period  of  social  isolation.  "  I  shall 
call  you  Garnett,  to  begin  with,"  said  Sarah  Clopton,  as 
she  shook  his  hand,  "  but  you  must  not  expect  me  to  be 
very  cordial  to-day.  It  was  only  last  night,  you  must 
remember,  that  some  of  the  people  you  associate  with 
arrested  and  carried  off  a  young  man  who  is  very  dear 
to  me." 

"  You  may  be  very  sure,  Miss  Clopton,  that  the  officer 
who  did  that  piece  of  work  had  no  relish  for  it.  He 

\  327  I 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

simply  obeyed  orders.  He  had  no  discretion  in  the  mat 
ter  whatever." 

"  Well,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  think  that,  Garnett, 
for  your  sake.  But  that  fact  doesn't  restore  our  young 
men,"  she  said  with  a  sigh.  "  Oh,  I  wonder  when  we'll 
all  be  at  peace  and  happy  again?  " 

"  In  God's  own  time,  and  not  before,"  declared  Meri- 
wether  Clopton  solemnly. 

"  Well,  we'll  try  an'  help  that  time  to  come,"  said  Mr. 
Sanders,  entering  the  room  at  that  moment.  He  was 
followed  by  Cephas,  who  was  one  of  Gabriel's  favourites 
among  the  small  boys.  Cephas  was  bashful  enough,  but 
he  always  felt  at  ease  at  the  Clopton  Place,  where  every 
thing  moved  along  the  lines  of  simplicity  and  perfect 
openness.  The  small  boy  had  a  sort  of  chilly  feeling 
when  he  saw  the  officer,  but  he  soon  got  over  that. 

"  I  went  an'  got  my  boss,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  "  an'  he 
paid  me  back  for  my  forgitfulness  by  purty  nigh  bitin' 
a  piece  out'n  my  arm;  an'  whilst  I  was  a-rubbin'  the 
place,  up  comes  Cephas  for  to  find  out  somethin'  about 
the  boys.  When  I  got  through  makin'  a  few  remarks 
sech  as  you  don't  hear  at  church,  a  kinder  blind  idee 
popped  in  my  head,  an'  so  I  tuck  Cephas  up  behind  me, 
an'  fetched  him  here." 

"  Sit  on  the  sofa,  Cephas.  Have  a  chair,  William, 
and  tell  us  about  your  blind  idea." 

"  Ef  you'll  promise  not  to  laugh,"  Mr.  Sanders  stipu 
lated.  "  You  know  Mrs.  Ab's  sayin'  that  ef  the  old  sow 
knowed  she  was  swallerin'  a  tree  ev'ry  time  she  crunched 
an  acorn,  she'd  grunt  a  heap  louder'n  she  does:  well,  I 

(  328  1 


FALCONER   MAKES    SUGGESTIONS 

know  what  I'm  fixin'  for  to  swaller,  and  you  won't  hear 
much  loud  gruntin'  from  me." 

"  Well,  we  are  ready  to  hear  from  you,"  said  Meri- 
wethcr  Clopton.  Whereupon,  Mr.  Sanders  threw  his 
head  back  and  laughed. 


329 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIVE 


Mr.  Sander  s^s  Riddle 

"I  TELL  you  how  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Sanders:  "  The  rid 
dle  is  how  to  git  a  message  to  Gabriel;  I  could  git  the 
Captain  thar  to  take  it,  but  the  Captain  will  have  as 
much  as  he  can  attend  to,  an'  for  that  matter,  so  have  I. 
Wi'  this  riddle  I'm  overcrapped.  Sence  I  left  here,  I've 
gone  over  the  whole  matter  in  my  mind,  ef  you  can  call 
it  a  mind.  I  could  go  down  thar  myself,  an'  I'd  be  glad 
to,  but  could  I  git  to  have  a  private  talk  wi'  Gabriel  ?  I 
reckon  not." 

The  remark  was  really  interrogative,  and  was  ad 
dressed  to  Captain  Falconer,  who  made  a  prompt  reply 
— "  I  hardly  think  the  scheme  would  work.  My  impres 
sion  is  that  orders  have  been  issued  from  Atlanta  for 
these  young  men  to  be  isolated.  If  that  is  so  they  can 
hold  communication  with  no  one  but  the  sentinel  on  duty, 
or  the  officer  who  has  charge  of  them.  They  are  to  be 
treated  as  felons,  though  nothing  has  been  proved 
against  them.  I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  that  is  the 
programme." 

"  That  is  about  what  I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Sanders, 
"  an'  that's  what  I  told  Cephas  here.  When  I  was 
fetchin'  my  horse,  Cephas,  he  comes  up,  an'  he  says, 

[  330  ] 


MR.     SANDERS'S    RIDDLE 

4  Mr.  Sanders,  have  you  heard  from  Gabriel? '  an'  I 
says,  '  No,  Cephas,  we  ain't  had  time  for  to  git  a  word 
from  'em.'  An'  then  he  went  on  to  say,  Cephas  did, 
that  he'd  like  mighty  well  to  see  Gabriel.  I  told  him  that 
maybe  we  could  fix  it  up  so  as  he  could  see  Gabriel.  You 
can't  imagine  how  holp  up  the  little  chap  was.  To  see 
him  then,  an'  see  him  now,  you'd  think  it  was  another 
boy." 

Captain  Falconer  looked  at  Cephas,  and  could  see  no 
guile.  On  the  contrary,  he  saw  a  freckled  lad  who  ap 
peared  to  be  about  ten  years  old;  he  was  really  nearly 
fourteen.  Cephas  was  so  ugly  that  he  was  ugly  when 
he  laughed,  as  he  was  doing  now ;  but  there  was  some 
thing  about  him  that  attracted  the  attention  of  those 
who  were  older.  It  was  a  fact  much  talked  about  that 
this  freckled  little  boy  never  went  with  children  of  his 
own  age,  but  was  always  to  be  found  with  those  much 
older.  He  was  Gabriel's  chum  when  Gabriel  wanted  a 
chum;  he  went  hunting  with  Francis  Bethune;  and  he 
could  often  be  found  at  the  store  in  which  Paul  Tomlin 
was  the  chief  clerk.  He  knew  all  the  secrets  of  these 
young  men,  and  kept  them,  and  they  frequently  advised 
with  him  about  the  young  ladies. 

But  he  was  fonder  of  Gabriel  than  of  all  the  rest,  and 
he  was  also  fond  of  Nan,  who  had  been  kind  to  him  in 
many  ways.  Cephas  was  one  of  those  ill-favoured  little 
creatures,  who  astonish  everybody  by  never  forgetting  a 
favour.  Gratitude  ran  riot  in  his  small  bosom,  and  he 
was  ever  ready  to  sacrifice  himself  for  his  friends. 

Seeing  that  Captain  Falconer  continued  to  look  at 
f  331  I 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

him,  Cephas  hung  his  head.  He  was  only  too  conscious 
of  his  ugliness,  and  was  very  sensitive  about  it.  He 
wanted  to  be  large  and  strong  and  handsome  like  Gabriel, 
or  dark  and  romantic-looking  like  Francis  Bethune ;  and 
sometimes  he  was  very  miserable  because  of  the  unkind- 
ness  of  fate  or  Providence  in  this  matter. 

"  And  so  you  want  to  see  your  friends,"  said  the  Cap 
tain,  very  kindly.  Every  feature  of  his  face  showed 
that  his  sympathies  were  keen.  "  They  are  very  far 
away,  or  will  be  when  they  get  to  their  journey's  end — 
too  far,  I  should  think,  for  a  little  boy  to  travel." 

"  Maybe  so,"  said  Cephas,  "  but  Gabriel  had  to  go." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Captain ;  "  wherever  Gabriel  goes, 
you  are  willing  to  go?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Cephas  very  simply. 

"  I  hope  Gabriel  appreciates  it,"  remarked  Sarah 
Clopton. 

"  Oh,  he  does !  "  exclaimed  Cephas.     "  Gabriel  knows. 

Why,  one  day "     Then,  remembering  the  company 

he  was  in,  he  blushed,  and  refused  to  go  on  with  what 
he  intended  to  say. 

Seeing  his  embarrassment,  Mr.  Sanders  came  to  his 
rescue.  "  What  I  want  to  know,  Captain,  is  this :  if  that 
little  chap  comes  down  to  Savannah,  will  you  allow  him 
to  see  Gabriel  and  talk  to  him?  " 

Again  the  Captain  looked  at  the  boy,  and  Cephas, 
catching  a  certain  humourous  gleam  in  the  gentleman's 
eye,  began  to  smile.  "  Now,  then,"  said  Captain  Fal 
coner,  with  an  answering  smile,  "  how  would  you  like 
to  go  with  me?  " 

f   332    1 


MR.     SANDERS'S    RIDDLE 

"  I  think  I  would  like  it,"  replied  Cephas,  with  a  broad 
grin ;  "  I  think  that  would  be  fine." 

"  And  what  does  Mr.  Sanders  think  of  it?  "  the  Cap 
tain  asked. 

"  Well,  I  hadn't  looked  at  it  from  that  p'int  of  view," 
said  Mr.  Sanders.  "  I  'lowed  maybe  that  the  best  an' 
cheapest  plan  would  be  for  me  to  take  the  little  chap 
down  an'  fetch  him  back." 

"  My  opinion  may  not  be  worth  much,  Mr.  Sanders," 
said  Sarah  Clopton,  "  but  I  think  it  would  be  a  shame 
to  take  that  child  so  far  away  from  home.  I  don't  be 
lieve  his  mother  will  allow  him  to  go." 

"  That  is  a  matter  that  was  jest  fixin'  for  to  worry 
me,"  remarked  Mr.  Sanders.  "  I  could  feel  it  kinder 
fermentin'  in  my  mind,  like  molasses  turnin'  to  vinegar, 
an'  now  that  you've  fetched  it  to  the  top,  Sarah,  we'll 
settle  it  before  we  go  any  furder.  Come,  Cephas;  we'll 
go  an'  see  your  mammy,  an'  see  ef  we  can't  coax  her  into 
lettin'  you  go.  You'll  have  to  do  your  best,  my  son; 
I'll  coax,  an'  you  must  wheedle." 

As  they  went  out,  Cephas  was  laughing  at  Mr.  San- 
ders's  remark  about  wheedling.  The  youngster  was  an 
expert  in  that  business.  He  was  his  mother's  only  child, 
and  he  had  learned  at  a  very  early  age  just  how  to  man 
age  her. 

"  What  troubles  me,  Cephas,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  "  is 
how  you  can  git  a  message  to  Gabriel  wi'out  lettin'  the 
cat  out'n  the  bag.  He'll  be  surrounder'd  in  sech  a  way 
that  you  can't  git  a  word  wi'  'im  wi'out  tellin'  the  whole 
caboodle." 

[  233  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

At  that  moment,  Mr.  Sanders  heard  a  small  voice  cry 
out  something  like  this :  "  Phazasee !  Phazasee !  arawa 
ooya  ingagog?  " 

To  which  jabbering  Cephas  made  prompt  reply :  "  lya 
ingagog  ota  annysavvy  ota  eesa  gibbleable !  " 

"  Ooya  ibfa!     Ooya  ibfa !  "  jeered  the  small  voice. 

Mr.  Sanders  looked  at  Cephas  in  astonishment., 
"  What  kinder  lingo  is  that?  "  he  asked. 

"  It's  the  way  we  school-children  talk  when  we  don't 
want  anybody  to  know  what  we  are  saying.  Johnny 
asked  me  where  I  was  going,  and  I  told  him  I  was  going 
to  Savannah  to  see  Gabriel." 

"  Did  he  know  what  you  said?  " 

"  Why,  he  couldn't  help  but  know,  but  he  didn't  be 
lieve  it ;  he  said  it  was  a  fib." 

"Well,  I'll  be  jigged!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanders. 
"  Call  that  boy  over  here." 

Cephas  turned  around — they  had  passed  the  house 
where  the  little  boy  lived — and  called  out:  "Onnaja! 
Onnaja!  Stermera  Andersa  antwasa  ota  eesa  ooya." 

The  small  boy  came  running,  though  there  was  a 
doubtful  look  on  his  face.  He  had  frequently  been  the 
victim  of  Cephas's  practical  jokes. 

Mr.  Sanders  questioned  him  closely,  and  he  confirmed 
the  interpretation  of  the  lingo  which  Cephas  had  given 
to  Mr.  Sanders. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Mr.  Sanders  to  Cephas 
when  they  had  dismissed  the  small  boy,  "  that  this  kinder 
thing  has  been  goin'  on  right  under  my  nose,  an'  I  not 
knowin'  a  word  about  it?  How'd  you  pick  up  the 
lingo?"  r  334  ] 


MR.     SANDERS'S    RIDDLE 

"  Gabriel  teached  it  to  me,"  replied  Cephas.  "  He 
talks  it  better  than  any  of  the  boys,  and  I  come  next." 
This  last  remark  Cephas  made  with  a  blush. 

"  Do  I  look  pale,  my  son  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Sanders, 
mopping  his  red  face  with  his  handkerchief.  Cephas 
gave  a  negative  reply  by  shaking  his  head.  "  Well,  I 
may  not  look  pale,  but  I  shorely  feel  pale.  You'll  have 
to  loan  me  your  arm,  Cephas ;  I  feel  like  Christopher 
Columbus  did  when  he  discovered  Atlanta,  Ga." 

"  Why,  he  didn't  discover  Atlanta,  Mr.  Sanders,"  pro 
tested  Cephas. 

"He  didn't!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanders.  "Well,  it 
was  his  own  fault  ef  he  didn't.  All  he  had  to  do  was 
to  read  the  country  newspapers.  But  that's  neither  here 
nor  thar.  Here  I've  been  buttin'  my  head  ag'in  trees, 
an'  walkin'  in  my  sleep  tryin'  for  to  study  up  some  plan 
to  git  word  to  Gabriel,  an'  here  you  walk  along  the  street 
an'  make  me  a  present  of  the  very  thing  I  want,  an'  I 
ain't  even  thanked  you  for  it." 

Cephas  couldn't  guess  what  Mr.  Sanders  was  driving 
at,  and  he  asked  no  questions.  His  mind  was  too  full 
of  his  proposed  trip.  When  the  proposition  was  first 
broached  to  Cephas's  mother,  she  scouted  the  idea  of  al 
lowing  her  boy  to  make  the  journey.  He  was  all  she 
had,  and  should  anything  happen  to  him — well,  the 
world  wouldn't  be  the  same  world  to  her.  And  it  was 
so  far  away ;  why,  she  had  heard  some  one  say  that  Sa 
vannah  was  right  on  the  brink  of  the  ocean — that  great 
monster  that  swallowed  ships  and  men  by  the  thousand, 
and  was  just  as  hungry  afterward  as  before.  But 

F  335  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Cephas  began  to  cry,  saying  that  he  wanted  to  see  Ga 
briel;  and  Mr.  Sanders  told  Gabriel's  side  of  the  story. 
Between  the  two,  the  poor  woman  had  no  option  but  to 
say  that  she'd  consider  the  matter,  and  when  a  woman 
begins  to  consider — well,  according  to  the  ancient  phi 
losophers,  it's  the  same  as  saying  yes. 

The  truth  is,  a  great  deal  of  pressure  was  brought  to 
bear  on  Cephas's  mother,  in  one  way  and  another.  Meri- 
wether  Clopton  called  on  her,  bringing  Captain  Fal 
coner.  She  was  not  at  all  pleased  to  see  the  Captain, 
and  she  made  no  effort  to  conceal  her  prejudice.  "  I 
never  did  think  that  I'd  speak  to  a  man  in  that  uniform," 
she  said  with  a  very  red  face.  But  she  was  better  satis 
fied  when  Meriwether  Clopton  told  her  that  the  Captain 
was  the  son  of  his  dearest  friend,  and  that  he  was  utterly 
opposed  to  the  radical  policy. 

The  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that,  with  many  a  sigh 
and  some  tears,  she  gave  her  consent  for  her  onliest,  her 
dearest,  and  her  bestest,  to  go  on  the  long  journey. 
And  then,  after  consenting,  she  was  angry  with  herself 
because  she  had  consented.  In  short,  she  was  as  miser 
able  and  as  anxious  as  mother-love  can  make  a  woman,  and 
poor  Cephas  never  could  understand  until  he  became  a 
grown  man,  and  had  children  of  his  own,  how  his  mother 
could  make  such  a  to-do  over  the  opportunity  that 
Providence  had  thrown  in  his  way.  To  tell  the  truth, 
he  was  almost  irritated  at  the  obstacles  and  objections 
that  the  vivid  imagination  of  his  mother  kept  conjuring 
up.  She  said  he  must  be  sure  not  to  fall  in  the  ocean, 
and  he  must  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  railroad  trains. 

F  336  1 


MR.     SANDERS'S    RIDDLE 

She  cried  silently  all  the  time  she  was  packing  his  modest 
supply  of  clothes  in  a  valise,  and  put  some  tea-cakes  in 
one  corner,  and  a  little  Testament  in  the  other. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  children  who  do  not  understand 
such  feelings  should  be  impatient  of  them,  and  Cephas 
is  to  be  excused  if  he  watched  the  whole  proceeding  with 
something  like  contempt  for  woman's  weakness.  But  he 
has  bitterly  regretted,  oh,  tens  of  thousands  of  times, 
that,  instead  of  standing  aloof  from  his  mother's  feel 
ings,  he  did  not  throw  his  arms  around  her,  and  tell  how 
much  he  appreciated  her  love,  and  how  every  tear  she 
shed  for  him  was  worth  to  him  a  hundred  times  more  than 
a  diamond.  But  Cephas  was  a  boy,  and,  being  a  boy, 
he  could  not  rise  superior  to  his  boy's  nature. 

It  was  arranged  that  Cephas  was  to  go  to  Savannah 
with  Captain  Falconer,  and  return  with  Mr.  Sanders, 
who  would  take  advantage  of  the  occasion  to  settle  up 
some  old  business  with  the  firm  that  had  acted  as  factor 
for  Meriwether  Clopton  before  the  war.  The  arrange 
ment  took  place  when  Mr.  Sanders  returned  home  after 
his  visit  to  Cephas's  mother,  and  was  of  course  condi 
tional  on  her  consent,  which  was  not  obtained  at  once. 

Mr.  Sanders  was  shrewd  enough  not  to  dwell  too  much 
on  the  plight  of  the  young  men  on  his  return.  By  some 
method  of  his  own,  he  seemed  to  sweep  the  whole  matter 
from  his  mind,  and  both  he  and  Meriwether  Clopton  ad 
dressed  themselves  to  such  topics  as  they  imagined  the 
Federal  Captain  would  find  interesting ;  and  in  this  they 
were  seconded  by  Sarah  Clopton,  whom  Robert  Toombs 
declared  to  be  one  of  the  finest  conversationalists  of  her 

I  337  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

time  when  she  chose  to  exert  her  powers.  But  for  the 
softness  and  fine  harmony  of  her  features,  her  face  would 
have  been  called  masculine.  Her  countenance  was  en 
tirely  responsive  to  her  emotions,  and  it  was  delightful 
to  watch  the  eloquent  play  of  her  features.  Captain 
Falconer  fell  quickly  under  the  spell  of  her  conversation, 
for  one  of  its  chiefest  charms  was  the  ease  with  which 
she  brought  out  the  best  thoughts  of  his  mind — thoughts 
and  views  that  were  a  part  of  his  inner  self. 

It  was  the  same  at  dinner,  where,  without  monopolising 
the  talk,  she  led  it  this  way  and  that,  but  always  in  chan 
nels  that  were  congenial  and  pleasing  to  the  Captain, 
and  that  enabled  him  to  appear  at  his  best.  In  honour 
of  his  guest,  Meriwether  Clopton  brought  out  some  fine 
old  claret  that  had  lain  for  many  years  undisturbed  in 
the  cellar. 

"  Thank  you,  Sarah,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  when  the 
hostess  pressed  him  to  have  a  glass,  "  I'll  not  trouble  you 
for  any  to-day.  I've  made  the  acquaintance  of  that 
claret.  It  ain't  sour  enough  for  vinegar,  nor  strong 
enough  for  liquor ;  it's  a  kind  of  a  cross  betwixt  a  second 
drawin'  of  tea  an'  the  syrup  of  squills ;  an'  no  matter 
how  hard  you  hit  it  it'll  never  hit  you  back.  It's  lots 
too  mild  for  a  Son  of  Temp'rance  like  me.  No ;  gi'  me 
a  full  jug  an'  a  shuck-pen  to  crawl  into,  an'  you  may 
have  all  the  wine,  red  or  yaller." 

But  the  fine  old  claret  was  thoroughly  enjoyed  by 
those  who  could  appreciate  the  flower  of  its  age  and  the 
flavour  of  its  vintage;  and  when  dinner  was  over,  and 
Captain  Falconer  was  on  his  way  to  camp,  he  felt  that, 

f  338  1 


MR.     S  ANDERS'S    RIDDLE 

outside  of  his  own  home,  he  had  never  had  such  a  pleas 
ant  experience. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  orders  came  from  Atlanta 
for  Captain  Falconer  to  turn  over  the  command  of  the 
detachment  to  the  officer  next  in  rank,  and  proceed  to 
Malvern,  where  he  would  find  further  instructions  await 
ing  him.  When  the  time  came  for  Cephas  to  be  off  with 
the  Captain,  you  may  well  believe  that  his  mother  saw 
all  sorts  of  trouble  ahead  for  him.  She  had  dreamed 
some  very  queer  dreams,  she  said,  and  she  was  very  sure 
that  no  good  would  follow.  And  at  the  last  moment, 
she  would  have  taken  Cephas  from  the  barouche  which 
had  come  for  him,  if  the  driver,  following  the  instruc 
tions  of  Mr.  Sanders,  had  not  whipped  up  his  horses,  and 
left  the  lady  standing  in  the  street. 

As  for  Cephas,  he  found  that  parting  from  his  mother 
was  not  such  a  fine  thing  after  all.  He  watched  her 
through  a  mist  of  tears,  and  waved  his  handkerchief  as 
long  as  he  could  see  her;  and  then  after  that  he  was 
the  loneliest  little  fellow  you  have  ever  seen.  He  refused 
to  eat  the  extra  tea-cake  that  his  mother  had  put  in  the 
pocket  of  his  jacket,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  be  per 
fectly  miserable  until  he  got  back  home.  But,  after 
all,  boys  are  boys,  and  the  feeling  of  loneliness  and  de 
jection  wore  away  after  awhile,  and  before  he  had  gone 
many  miles,  what  with  making  the  acquaintance  of  the 
driver,  who  was  a  private  soldier,  and  getting  on  friendly 
terms  with  Captain  Falconer,  he  soon  arrived  at  the  point 
where  he  relished  his  tea-cake,  and  when  this  had  been 
devoured,  he  felt  as  if  travelling  was  the  most  delightful 

[  339  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

thing  in  the  world,  especially  if  a  fellow  has  been  in 
trusted  with  a  tremendous  secret  that  nobody  else  in  the 
world  knew  besides  Mr.  Sanders  and  himself. 

For  as  soon  as  Mr.  Sanders  discovered  that  the  Cap 
tain  would  be  willing  to  have  Cephas  go  along,  he  had 
taken  the  little  chap  in  hand,  and  thoroughly  impressed 
upon  his  mind  everything  he  wanted  him  to  say  to  Ga 
briel,  and  he  was  not  satisfied  until  Cephas  had  written 
the  message  out  in  the  dog-latin  of  the  school-children, 
and  had  learned  it  by  heart.  Mr.  Sanders  also  im 
pressed  on  the  little  lad's  mind  the  probability  that  the 
Captain  would  be  curious  as  to  the  nature  of  the  mes 
sage  ;  and  he  gave  Cephas  a  plausible  answer  for  every 
question  that  an  inquisitive  person  could  put  to  him,  and 
made  him  repeat  these  answers  over  and  over  again.  In 
fact,  Cephas  was  compelled  to  study  as  hard  as  if  he  had 
been  in  school,  but  he  relished  the  part  he  was  to  play, 
and  learned  it  with  a  zest  that  was  very  pleasing  to  Mr. 
Sanders.  Only  an  hour  before  he  was  to  leave  with  the 
Captain,  Mr.  Sanders  went  to  Cephas's  home,  and  made 
him  repeat  over  everything  he  had  been  taught,  and  the 
glibness  with  which  the  little  lad  repeated  the  answers 
to  the  questions  was  something  wonderful  in  so  small  a 
chap. 

"  Don't  git  lonesome,  Cephas,"  was  the  parting  in 
junction  of  Mr.  Sanders.  "  Don't  forgit  that  I'll  be  on 
the  train  when  the  whistle  blows.  I'm  gwine  to  start 
right  off.  You  may  not  see  me,  but  I'll  not  be  far  off. 
Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  an'  don't  git  into  no  panic.  The 
whole  thing  is  gwine  through  like  it  was  on  skids,  an' 
the  skids  greased." 

f    340    1 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SIX 


Cephas  Has  His  Troubles 

U  SUALLY  there  is  a  yawning  gulf  between  youth  and 
old  age ;  but  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Lumsden  and  Nan  Dor- 
rington,  it  was  spanned  by  the  simplicity  and  tenderness 
common  to  both.  Whether  any  of  the  ancients  or  mod 
erns  have  mentioned  the  fact,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to 
inquire,  but  good-humour  is  a  form  of  tenderness.  Those 
who  are  easy  to  laugh  are  likewise  ready  to  be  sorry,  and 
they  have  a  fund  of  sympathy  to  draw  on  whenever  the 
necessity  arises.  Simplicity  and  tenderness  connect  the 
highest  wisdom  with  the  deepest  ignorance,  and  find  the 
elements  of  brotherhood  where  the  intellect  is  unable  to 
discern  it.  It  was  simplicity  and  tenderness  that  bridged 
the  gulf  of  years  that  lay  between  the  old  gentlewoman 
and  the  young  girl.  Age  can  find  no  comfort  for  itself 
unless  it  can  make  terms  with  youth.  Where  it  stands 
alone,  depending  upon  the  respect  that  should  belong  to 
what  is  venerable,  there  is  something  gruesome  about  it. 
It  quenches  the  high  spirits  of  children  and  young  peo 
ple,  and  chills  their  enthusiasm.  All  that  it  does  for 
them  is  to  give  notorious  advertisement  to  the  complexion 
to  which  they  must  all  come  at  last.  "  You  see  these 

[   341    ] 


GABRIEL    TOLL TVER 

Wrinkled  and  flabby  features,  this  gray  hair,  these  faded 
and  watery  eyes,  these  shaking  limbs  and  trembling 
hands:  well,  this  is  what  you  must  come  to."  And,  in 
deed,  it  is  an  object  lesson  well  calculated  to  sober  and 
subdue  the  giddy. 

Now,  age  had  dealt  very  gently  with  Gabriel's  grand 
mother;  it  became  her  well.  Her  white  hair  was  even 
more  beautiful  now  than  it  had  been  when  she  was  young, 
as  Meriwether  Clopton  often  declared.  Her  eyes  were 
bright,  and  all  her  sympathies  were  as  keenly  alive  as 
they  had  been  fifty  years  before.  She  had  kept  in  touch 
with  Gabriel  and  the  young  people  about  her,  and  none 
of  her  faculties  had  been  impaired.  She  was  the  gentlest 
of  gentlewomen. 

Once  Nan  had  asked  her — "  Grandmother  Lumsden, 
what  is  the  perfume  I  smell  every  time  I  come  here  ?  You 
have  it  on  your  clothes." 

"  Life  Everlasting,  my  dear."  For  one  brief  and 
fleeting  instant,  Nan  had  the  odd  feeling  that  she  could 
see  millions  and  millions  of  years  into  the  future.  Life 
Everlasting!  She  caught  her  breath.  But  the  vision 
or  feeling  was  swept  away  by  the  placid  voice  of  Mrs. 
Lumsden.  "  I  believe  you  and  Gabriel  call  it  rabbit  to 
bacco,"  she  explained. 

Nan  had  a  great  longing  to  be  with  Mrs.  Lumsden  the 
moment  she  heard  that  Gabriel  had  been  spirited  away 
by  the  strong  arm  of  the  Government.  She  felt  that 
she  would  be  more  comfortable  there  than  at  home. 

"  My  dear,  what  put  it  into  that  wise  little  head  of 
yours  to  come  and  comfort  an  old  woman?  "  Mrs.  Lums- 

[  342  ] 


CEPHAS     HAS     HIS     TROUBLES 

den  asked,  when  Meriwether  Clopton  and  Miss  Fanny 
Tomlin  had  taken  their  departure.  She  was  still  sitting 
close  to  Nan,  caressing  her  hand. 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  lonely  with  Gabriel  gone, 
and  I  just  made  up  my  mind  to  come.  I  was  afraid 
until  I  reached  the  door,  and  then  I  wasn't  afraid 
any  more.  If  you  don't  want  me,  I'll  soon  find  it 
out." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am,  Nan,  to  have  you 
here ;  and  I  can  guess  your  feelings.  No  doubt  you  were 
shocked  to  hear  that  Francis  Bethune  had  been  taken 
with  the  rest."  The  dear  old  lady  had  the  knack  of 
clinging  to  her  ideas. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Grandmother 
Lumsden.  I  care  no  more  for  Mr.  Bethune  than  I  do 
for  the  others — perhaps  not  so  much." 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Lumsden,  "  but 
I  have  always  looked  forward  to  the  day  when  you  and 
Francis  would  be  married." 

"  I've  heard  you  talk  that  way  before,  and  I've  often 
wondered  why  you  did  it." 

"  Oh,  well !  perhaps  it  is  one  of  my  foolish  dreams," 
said  Mrs.  Lumsden  with  a  sigh. 

"  Your  father's  plantation  and  that  of  Francis's 
grandfather  are  side  by  side,  and  I  have  thought  it  would 
be  romantic  for  the  heirs  to  join  hands  and  make  the 
two  places  one." 

"  I  can't  see  anything  romantic  in  that,  Grandmother 
Lumsden.  It's  like  a  sum  in  arithmetic." 

"  Well,  you  must  allow  old  people  to  indulge  in  their 
[  343  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

dreams,  my  dear.  When  you  are  as  old  as  I  am,  and 
have  seen  as  much  of  life,  you  will  have  different  ideas 
about  romance." 

"  I  hope,  ma'am,  that  your  next  dream  will  be  truer," 
said  Nan,  almost  playfully. 

That  night,  Nan  lay  awake  for  a  long  time.  At  last 
she  slipped  out  of  bed,  felt  her  way  around  it,  and  leaned 
over  and  kissed  Gabriel's  grandmother.  In  an  instant 
she  felt  the  motherly  arms  of  the  old  gentlewoman 
around  her. 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  do,  when  Gabriel  comes  and 
kisses  you  in  the  night?  "  whispered  Nan  wistfully. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear- — many  times." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  "  the  words  exhaled  from  the 
girl's  lips  in  a  long-drawn,  trembling  sigh.  Then  she 
went  back  to  her  place  in  bed,  and  soon  both  the  com 
forter  and  the  comforted  were  sound  asleep. 

As  has  been  hinted,  the  moment  Mr.  Sanders  discov 
ered  there  was  some  slight  chance  of  getting  a  message 
to  Gabriel,  he  became  one  of  the  busiest  men  in  Shady 
Dale,  though  his  industry  was  not  immediately  apparent 
to  his  friends  and  neighbours.  Among  those  whom  he 
took  occasion  to  see  was  Mr.  Tidwell,  whose  son  Jesse 
was  among  the  prisoners. 

"  Gus,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  without  any  ceremony, 
"  you  remember  the  row  you  come  mighty  nigh  havin' 
wi'  Tomlin  Perdue,  not  so  many  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  remember  something  of  it,"  replied  Mr.  Tid 
well.  He  was  a  man  who  ordinarily  went  with  his  head 
held  low,  as  though  engaged  in  deep  thought.  When 

[  344  ] 


CEPHAS     HAS     HIS     TROUBLES 

spoken  to  he  straightened  up,  and  thereby  seemed  to  add 
several  inches  to  his  height. 

"  Well,  it's  got  to  be  done  over  ag'in,"  remarked  Mr. 
Sanders.  "  It  happened  in  Malvern,  didn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  in  the  depot,"  replied  Mr.  Tidwell.  "  We  were 
both  on  our  way  to  Atlanta,  and  the  Major  misunder 
stood  something  I  had  said." 

"  Egzackly !     Well,  it  must  be  done  over  ag'in." 

Mr.  Tidwell  lowered  his  head  and  appeared  to  reflect. 
Then  he  straightened  up  again,  and  his  face  was  very 
serious.  "  Mr.  Sanders,  has  Tomlin  Perdue  been  drop 
ping  his  wing  about  that  fuss?  Has  he  been  making 
remarks?  " 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  not,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders  cheerfully. 
"  But  I've  got  a  mighty  good  reason  for  axin'  you  about 
it.  Come  in  your  office,  Gus,  an'  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know, 
an'  it  won't  take  me  two  minnits." 

They  went  in  and  closed  the  door,  and  remained  in 
consultation  for  some  time.  While  they  were  thus  en 
gaged,  Silas  Tomlin  came  to  the  door,  tried  the  bolt, 
and  finding  that  it  would  not  yield,  walked  restlessly  up 
and  down,  preyed  upon  by  many  strange  and  conflicting 
emotions.  He  had  evidently  gone  through  much  mental 
suffering.  His  face  was  drawn  and  haggard,  and  his 
clothes  were  shabbier  than  ever.  He  took  no  account 
of  time,  but  walked  up  and  down,  waiting  for  Mr.  Tid 
well  to  come  out,  and  as  he  walked  he  was  the  victim  both 
of  his  fears  and  his  affections.  One  moment,  he  heartily 
wished  that  he  might  never  see  his  son  again ;  the  next 
he  would  have  given  everything  he  possessed  to  have  the 

F  345  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

boy  back,  and  hear  once  more  the  familiar,  "  Hello, 
father !  " 

After  awhile,  Mr.  Sanders  and  Mr.  Tidwell  came  forth 
from  the  lawyer's  office.  They  appeared  to  be  in  fine 
humour,  for  both  were  laughing,  as  though  some  side 
splitting  joke  had  just  passed  between  them. 

"  There's  no  doubt  about  it,  Mr.  Sanders,"  Lawyer 
Tidwell  was  saying,  "  you  ought  to  be  a  major-gen 
eral!" 

"  I  declare,  Tidwell !  "  exclaimed  Silas,  with  something 
like  indignation,  "  I  don't  see  how  you  can  go  around 
happy  and  laughing  under  the  circumstances.  You  do 
like  you  could  fetch  your  son  back  with  a  laugh.  I  wish 
I  could  fetch  Paul  back  that  way." 

"  Well,  he'd  stay  whar  he  is,  Silas,"  said  Mr.  Sanders, 
with  a  benevolent  smile,  "  ef  his  comin'  back  had  to  be 
brung  about  by  any  hilarity  from  you.  Why,  you  ain't 
laughed  but  once  sence  you  was  a  baby,  an'  when  you 
heard  the  sound  of  it  you  set  up  a  howl  that's  lasted  ever 
sence." 

"  If  you  think,  Silas,  that  crying  will  bring  the  boys 
back,"  said  Mr.  Tidwell,  "  I'll  join  you  in  a  crying- 
match,  and  stand  here  and  boohoo  with  you  just  as  long 
as  you  want  to." 

"  I  just  called  by  to  see  if  you  had  heard  any  news," 
remarked  Silas,  taking  no  offence  at  the  sarcastic  utter 
ances  of  the  two  men.  "  I  am  just  obliged  to  get  some 
news.  I  am  on  pins :  I  can't  sleep  at  night ;  and  my  ap 
petite  is  gone." 

Mr.  Sanders  looked  at  the  man's  haggard  face,  and 
F  3-K)  1 


CEPHAS     HAS     HIS     TROUBLES 

immediately  became  serious  and  sympathetic.  "  Well,  I 
tell  you,  Silas,  you  needn't  worry  another  minnit.  The 
only  one  amongst  'em  that's  in  real  trouble  is  Gabriel 
Tolliver.  I've  looked  into  the  case  from  A  to  Izzard, 
an'  that's  the  way  it  stan's." 

"  That  is  perfectly  true,"  assented  Mr.  Tidwcll. 
"  We  can  account  for  the  movements  of  all  the  boys  on 
the  night  of  the  killing  except  those  of  Tolliver;  and 
he  is  in  considerable  danger.  By  the  way,  Silas,  you 
said  some  time  ago — oh,  ever  so  long  ago — that  you 
would  bring  me  a  copy  of  Blackwood's  Magazine.  You 
remember  there  was  a  story  in  it  you  wanted  me  to  read." 

"  No,  I — well,  I  tried  to  find  it ;  I  hunted  for  it  high 
and  low ;  but  I  haven't  been  able  to  put  my  hands  on  it. 
But  I've  had  so  much  trouble  of  one  kind  and  another, 
that  I  clean  forgot  it.  I'm  glad  you  mentioned  it;  I'll 
try  to  find  it  again." 

"  Well,  as  a  lawyer,"  said  Mr.  Tidwell,  somewhat  sig 
nificantly — or  so  it  seemed  to  Silas — "  I  don't  charge 
you  a  cent  for  telling  you  that  your  case  wouldn't  stand 
a  minnit." 

"My  case — my  case!  What  case?  I  have  no  case. 
Why,  I  don't  know  what  you  arc  talking  about."  He 
shook  his  head  and  waved  his  hand  nervously. 

"Oh,  I  remember  now ;  your  case  was  purely  hypo 
thetical,"  said  Mr.  Tidwell.  "  Well,  your  Blackwood 
was  wrong  about  it." 

"  That's  what  I  thought,"  Silas  assented  with  a 
grunt;  and  with  that,  he  turned  abruptly  away,  and 
went  in  the  direction  of  his  house. 

f    347    1 


GABRIEL     TOL LIVER 

"  I'll  tell  you  what's  the  fact,"  remarked  Mr.  San 
ders,  as  he  watched  the  shabby  and  shrunken  figure  re 
treat  ;  "  I'm  about  to  change  my  mind  about  Silas.  I 
used  to  think  he  was  mean  all  through;  but  he's  got  a 
nice  warm  place  in  his  heart  for  that  son  of  his'n.  I 
declare  I  feel  right  sorry  for  the  man." 

Before  Cephas  went  away,  he  was  not  too  busy  learn 
ing  the  lessons  Mr.  Sanders  had  set  for  him  to  forget 
to  hunt  up  Nan  Dorrington  and  tell  her  the  wonderful 
news;  to-wit,  that  he  was  about  to  go  on  a  journey,  and 
that  while  he  was  gone  he  would  most  likely  see  Gabriel. 

"  Well,"  said  Nan,  drawing  herself  up  a  little  stiffly, 
"what  is  that  to  me?"  Unfortunately,  Cephas  had 
come  upon  the  girl  when  she  was  talking  with  Eugenia 
Claiborne,  who  had  sought  her  out  at  the  Lumsden 
Place. 

Cephas  looked  at  her  hard  a  moment,  and  then  his 
freckled  face  turned  red.  He  was  properly  angry. 
"  Well,  whatever  it  may  be  to  .you,  it's  a  heap  to  me," 
he  said.  "  I  hope  it's  nothing  to  you." 

"  Cephas,  will  you  see  Paul  Tomlin  ?  "  asked  Eugenia. 
"  If  you  do,  tell  him  that  one  of  his  friends  sent  him  her 
love." 

"  Is  it  sure  enough  love?  "  inquired  Cephas. 

"  Yes,  Cephas,  it  is,"  replied  Eugenia  simply  and 
seriously — but  her  face  was  very  red.  "  Tell  him  that 
Eugenia  Claiborne  sent  him  her  love." 

"  All  right,"  said  Cephas,  and  turned  away  without 
looking  at  Nan.  She  had  hurt  his  feelings. 

This  turn  of  affairs  didn't  suit  Nan  at  all.  She  ran 
f  348  I 


CEPHAS     HAS     HIS     TROUBLES 

after  Cephas,  and  caught  him  by  the  arm.  "  Aren't 
you  ashamed  of  yourself,  Cephas,  to  treat  me  so?  How 
could  I  tell  you  anything  before  others  ?  If  you  see  Ga 
briel,  tell  him — oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  If  I  was 
to  tell  you  what  I  want  to,  you'd  say  that  Nan  Dorring- 
ton  had  lost  her  mind.  No,  I'll  not  send  any  word, 
Cephas.  It  wouldn't  be  proper  in  a  young  lady.  If 
he  asks  about  me,  just  tell  him  that  I  am  well  and 
happy." 

She  turned  away,  in  response  to  a  call  from  Eugenia 
Claiborne,  but  she  kept  her  eyes  on  Cephas  for  some  time. 
Evidently  she  wished  to  send  a  message,  but  was  afraid 
to.  "  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Cephas,"  she  said,  be 
fore  the  youngster  got  out  of  hearing.  Cephas  made 
110  reply,  but  trudged  on  stolidly.  He  was  at  the  age 
when  a  boy  is  easily  disgusted  with  girls  and  young 
women.  You  may  call  them  sweet  creatures  if  you  want 
to,  but  a  twelve-year-old  boy  is  not  to  be  deceived  by  fine 
words.  The  sweet  creatures  are  under  no  restraints 
when  dealing  with  small  boys,  and  the  small  boys  are 
well  acquainted  with  all  their  worst  traits.  What  is 
most  strange  is  that  this  intimate  knowledge  is  of  no 
service  to  them  when  they  grow  a  little  older.  They 
forget  all  about  it  and  fall  into  the  first  trap  that  love 
sets  for  them. 

Cephas  was  angry  without  knowing  -why.  He  felt 
that  both  Gabriel  and  himself  had  been  insulted,  though 
he  couldn't  have  explained  the  nature  of  the  insult ;  and 
he  was  all  the  angrier  because  he  was  fond  of  Nan.  She 
had  been  very  kind  to  the  little  boy — kinder,  perhaps, 

f  319  I 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

than  he  deserved,  for  he  had  made  the  impulsive  young 
lady  the  victim  of  many  a  practical  joke. 

As  Cephas  went  along,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him 
that  he  had  done  wrong  to  say  anything  about  his  pro 
posed  journey,  and  the  thought  took  away  all  his  re 
sentment.  He  whirled  in  his  tracks,  and  ran  back  to 
where  he  had  left  the  girls.  He  saw  Eugenia  Claiborne 
sauntering  along  the  street,  but  Nan  was  nowhere  in 
sight.  He  had  no  trouble  in  pledging  Miss  Claiborne 
to  secrecy,  for  she  was  very  fond  of  all  sorts  of  secrets, 
and  could  keep  them  as  well  as  another  girl. 

Nan,  she  informed  Cephas,  had  expressed  a  determina 
tion  to  visit  him  at  his  own  home,  and,  in  fact,  Cephas 
found  her  there.  She  was  as  sweet  as  sugar,  and  was 
not  at  all  the  same  Nan  who  had  drawn  herself  up  proud 
ly  and  as  good  as  told  Cephas  that  it  was  nothing  to  her 
that  he  was  going  to  see  Gabriel.  No ;  this  was  another 
Nan,  and  she  had  a  troubled  look  in  her  eyes  that  Cephas 
had  never  seen  there  before. 

"  I  came  to  see  if  you  were  still  angry,  Cephas,"  she 
said  by  way  of  explanation.  "  I  wasn't  very  nice  to  you, 
was  I?" 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  don't  mind  Cephas,"  said  the  lad's 
mother.  "  If  you  do,  he'll  keep  you  guessing.  Has 
he  been  rude  to  you,  Nan?  " 

And  it  was  then  that  Cephas  heard  praise  poured  on 
his  name  in  a  steady  stream.  Cephas  rude !  Cephas 
saucy!  A  thousand  times  no!  Why,  he  was  the  best, 
the  kindest,  and  the  brightest  child  in  the  town.  Nan 
was  so  much  in  earnest  that  Cephas  had  to  blush. 

[  350  1 


CEPHAS     HAS     HIS     TROUBLES 

"  I  didn't  know,"  said  his  mother.  "  He  has  been  go 
ing  with  those  large  boys  so  much  that  I  was  afraid  he 
was  getting  too  big  for  his  breeches."  She  loved  her 
son,  but  she  had  no  illusions  about  the  nature  of  boys ; 
she  knew  them  well. 

"  Are  you  still  angry,  Cephas  ?  "  Nan  asked.  She  ap 
peared  very  anxious  to  be  sure  on  that  score. 

"  N-o-o,"  replied  Cephas,  somewhat  doubtfully ;  he 
hesitated  to  surrender  the  advantage  that  he  saw  he  had. 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  said  Nan,  "  and  I  think  it  is  very 
unkind  of  you.  I  am  sorry  you  misunderstood  me;  if 
you  only  knew  how  I  really  feel,  and  how  much  trouble 
I  have,  you  would  be  sorry  instead  of  angry." 

"  I'm  the  one  to  blame,"  said  Cephas  penitently. 
"  Gabriel  says  you  dislike  him,  and  I  thought  he  was 
only  guessing.  But  he  knew  better  than  I  did.  I  had 
no  business  to  bother  you." 

Nan  caught  her  breath.  "  Did  Gabriel  say  I  disliked 
him?" 

"  He  didn't  say  that  word,"  replied  Cephas.  "  I 
think  he  said  you  detested  him,  and  I  told  him  he  didn't 
know  what  he  was  talking  about.  But  he  did ;  he  knew 
a  great  deal  better  than  I  did,  because  I  didn't  really 
know  until  just  now." 

"  But,  Cephas !  "  cried  Nan ;  "  what  could  have  put 
such  an  idea  in  his  head?  "  Cephas's  mother  was  now 
busy  about  the  house. 

"  I  didn't  know  then,  but  I  know  now,"  remarked  the 
boy  stolidly. 

"  Don't  be  unkind,  Cephas.  If  you  knew  me  better, 
[  351  ] 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

you'd  be  sorry  for  me.     You  and  Gabriel  are  terribly 
mistaken.     I'm  very  fond  of  both  of  you." 

"  Oh,  /  don't  count  in  this  game,"  Cephas  declared. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do,"  said  Nan.  "  You  are  one  of  my 
dearest  friends,  and  so  is  Gabriel." 

"  All  right,"  said  Cephas.  "  If  you  treat  all  your 
dearest  friends  as  you  do  Gabriel,  I'm  very  sorry  for 
them." 

"  Cephas,  if  you  tell  Gabriel  what  I  said  while  Eu 
genia  Claiborne  was  standing  there,  all  ears,  I'll  never 
forgive  you."  Nan  was  at  her  wit's  end. 

"  Tell  him  that !  "  cried  Cephas ;  "  why,  I  wouldn't 
tell  him  that,  not  for  all  the  world.  I'll  tell  him  noth- 
ing." 

"Please,  Cephas,"  said  Nan.  "Tell  him  "—she 
paused,  and  threw  her  hair  away  from  her  pale  face — 
"  tell  him  that  if  he  doesn't  come  home  soon,  I  shall 
die !  "  Then  her  face  turned  from  pale  to  red,  and  she 
laughed  loudly. 

"  Well,  I  certainly  sha'n't  tell  him  that,"  said  Cephas. 

"  I  didn't  think  you  would,"  said  Nan.  "  You  are  a 
nice  little  boy,  and  I  am  going  to  kiss  you  good-bye.  If 
you  don't  have  something  sweet  to  tell  me  when  you 
come  back,  I'll  think  you  detest  me — wasn't  that  Ga 
briel's  word  ?  Poor  Gabriel !  he's  in  prison,  and  here  we 
are  joking  about  him." 

"  I'm  not  joking  about  him!  "  exclaimed  Cephas. 

"  Just  as  much  as  I  am,"  said  Nan ;  and  then  she 
leaned  over  and  kissed  Cephas's  freckled  face,  leaving  it 
very  red  after  the  operation. 

f  352  ] 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SEVEN 


Mr.  Sanders  Visits  Some  of  His  Old  Friends 

J.T  will  be  observed  by  those  who  are  accustomed  to 
make  note  of  trifles,  that  the  chronicler,  after  packing 
Cephas  off  in  a  barouche  with  the  handsome  Captain 
Falconer,  still  manages  to  retain  him  in  Shady  Dale. 
For  the  sake  of  those  who  may  be  puzzled  over  the  mat 
ter,  let  us  say  that  it  is  a  mistake  of  the  reporter.  That 
is  the  way  our  public  men  dispose  of  their  unimportant 
inconsistencies — and  the  reporter,  for  his  part,  can  say 
that  the  trouble  is  due  to  a  typographical  error.  The 
truth  is,  however,  that  when  a  cornfield  chronicler  finds 
himself  entangled  in  a  rush  of  events,  even  if  they  are 
minor  ones,  he  feels  compelled  to  resort  to  that  pattern 
of  the  "  P.  S."  which  is  so  comforting  to  the  lady  writ 
ers,  and  so  captivating  to  their  readers. 

Mr.  Sanders  is  supposed  to  be  on  his  way  to  Savannah 
on  the  same  train  with  Cephas  and  Captain  Falconer, 
supposing  the  train  to  be  on  time.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
necessary  to  give  a  further  account  of  his  movements 
before  he  started  on  the  journey  that  was  to  prove  to  be 
such  an  important  event  in  Gabriel's  career. 

On  the  third  morning  after  the  arrest  of  the  young 
men,  Mrs.  Lnmsden  expressed  a  desire  to  see  Mr.  San- 

[  353  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

ders,  but  he  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Many  sympa 
thetic  persons,  including  Nan  Dorrington,  joined  in  the 
search,  but  it  proved  to  be  a  fruitless  one.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  Mr.  Sanders  had  gone  to  bed  early  the  night 
before,  but  a  little  after  midnight  he  awoke  with  a  start. 
This  was  such  an  unusual  experience  that  he  permitted 
it  to  worry  him.  He  had  had  no  dream,  he  had  heard 
no  noise ;  yet  he  had  suddenly  come  out  of  a  sound  and 
refreshing  sleep  with  every  faculty  alert.  He  struck  a 
match,  and  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  a  quarter  to 
one. 

"  I  wish,  plague  take  'em !  "  he  said  with  a  snort, 
"  that  somebody  would  whirl  in  an'  make  a  match  that 
wouldn't  smifflicate  the  whole  house  an'  lot." 

He  lit  the  candle,  and  then  proceeded  to  draw  on  his 
clothes.  In  the  course  of  this  proceeding,  he  lay  back 
on  the  bed  with  his  hands  under  his  head.  He  lay  thus 
for  some  minutes,  and  then  suddenly  jumped  to  his  feet 
with  an  exclamation.  He  put  on  his  clothes  in  a  hurry, 
and  went  out  to  the  stables,  where  he  gave  his  horse  a 
good  feed — seventeen  ears  of  corn  and  two  bundles  of 
fodder. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  house,  and  rummaged  around 
until  he  found  a  pitcher  of  buttermilk  and  a  pone  of 
corn-bread,  which  he  disposed  of  deliberately,  and  with 
great  relish.  This  done,  he  changed  his  clothes,  sub 
stituting  for  those  he  wore  every  day  the  suit  he  wore 
on  Sundays  and  holidays.  When  all  these  preparations 
were  complete,  the  hands  of  his  watch  stood  at  quarter 
past  three.  He  had  delayed  and  dillydallied  in  order  to 

[  354  ] 


MR.    SANDERS    VISITS    FRIENDS 

give  his  horse  time  to  eat.  The  animal  had  taken  ad 
vantage  of  the  opportunity,  for  when  Mr.  Sanders  went 
to  the  stables,  the  Racking  Roan  was  playfully  tossing 
the  bare  cobs  about  in  the  trough  with  his  flexible 
upper  lip. 

"  Be  jigged  ef  your  appetite  ain't  mighty  nigh  as 
good  as  mine,"  he  remarked,  whereupon  the  roan  play 
fully  bit  at  him.  "  Don't  do  that,  my  son,"  protested 
Mr.  Sanders.  "  Can't  you  see  I've  got  on  my  Sunday 
duds?" 

To  bridle  and  saddle  the  horse  was  a  matter  of  a  few 
moments  only,  and  when  Mr.  Sanders  mounted,  the  spir 
ited  horse  was  so  evidently  in  for  a  frolic  that  he  was 
going  at  a  three-minute  gait  by  the  time  the  rider  had 
thrown  a  leg  over  the  saddle. 

A  horseback  ride^  when  the  weather  is  fine  and  the  sun 
is  shining,  is  a  very  pleasing  experience,  but  it  is  not  to 
be  compared  to  a  ride  in  the  dark,  provided  you  are  on 
good  terms  with  your  horse,  and  are  familiar  with  the 
country.  You  surrender  yourself  entirely  to  the  creat 
ure's  movements,  and  if  he  is  a  horse  equipped  with  cour 
age,  common-sense  and  energy,  you  are  lifted  entirely 
out  of  your  every-day  life  into  the  regions  of  romance 
and  derring-do — whatever  that  may  be.  There  is  no 
other  feeling  like  it,  no  other  pleasure  to  be  compared 
to  it ;  all  the  rest  smell  of  the  earth. 

"  I'm  sorter  glad  I  lit  that  match,"  Mr.  Sanders  re 
marked  to  the  horse.  "  It's  like  gittin'  a  whiff  of  the 
Bad  Place,  an'  then  breathin'  the  fresh  air  of  heav'n." 
The  reply  of  the  roan  was  a  sharp  affirmative  snort. 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

The  sun  was  just  rising  when  Mr.  Sanders  rode  into 
Halcyondale.  Coincident  with  his  arrival,  the  train 
from  Atlanta  came  in  with  a  tremendous  clatter.  There 
was  much  creaking  and  clanking  as  it  slowed  up  at  the 
modest  station.  It  paused  just  long  enough  for  the 
mail-bag  and  a  trunk  to  be  thrown  off  with  a  bang,  and 
then  it  went  puffing  away.  Short  as  the  pause  had  been, 
one  of  the  passengers,  in  the  person  of  Colonel  Bolivar 
Blasengame,  had  managed  to  escape  from  it.  The  Col 
onel,  with  his  valise  in  his  hand,  paused  to  watch  the 
train  out  of  sight,  and  then  leisurely  made  his  way  tow 
ard  his  home.  To  reach  that  point,  he  was  compelled 
to  cross  the  public  square,  and  as  he  emerged  from  the 
side  street  leading  to  the  station,  he  met  Mr.  Sanders, 
who  had  also  been  watching  the  train. 

"  Hello,  Colonel,  how  are  you  ?  We  belong  appar 
ently  to  the  early  bird  society." 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Sanders,"  replied  the  Colonel, 
with  a  smile  of  friendly  wejcome.  "  What  wind  has 
blown  you  over  here?  " 

"  Why,  I  want  to  see  Major  Perdue.  You  know  we 
have  had  trouble  in  our  settlement." 

"  And  you  want  to  sec  Tomlin  because  you  have  had 
trouble;  but  why  is  it,  Mr.  Sanders,  that  your  people 
never  think  of  me  when  you  have  trouble  ?  Am  I  losing 
caste  in  your  community  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know,  Colonel,  you  haven't  been  over 
sence  the  year  one;  an'  then  the  Major  is  kinder  kin  to 
one  of  the  chaps  that's  been  took  off." 

"  Exactly ;  but  did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  whoever 
[  356  1 


MR.    SANDERS    VISITS    FRIENDS 

is  kin  to  Tomlin  is  a  little  kin  to  me,"  remarked  the  Col 
onel.  "  Tomlin  is  my  brother-in-law—  But  where  are 
you  going  now?  " 

"  Well,  I  thought  I  would  go  to  the  tavern,  have  my 
hoss  put  up  an'  fed,  git  a  snack  of  somethin'  to  eat,  an' 
then  call  on  the  Major." 

"  You  hadn't  heard,  I  reckon,  that  the  tavern  is  closed, 
and  the  livery-stable  broke  up,"  said  the  Colonel,  by  way 
of  giving  the  visitor  some  useful  information. 

At  that  moment  a  negro  came  out  on  the  veranda  of 
the  hotel — only  the  older  people  called  it  a  tavern — and 
rang  the  bell  that  meant  breakfast  in  half  an  hour. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Sanders,  though  he 
knew  well  enough. 

"  It's  pure  habit,"  replied  the  Colonel.  "  That  nig 
ger  has  been  ringing  the  bell  so  long  that  he  can't  quit 
it.  Anyhow,  you  can't  go  to  the  tavern,  and  you  can't 
go  to  Tomlin's.  He's  got  a  mighty  big  family  to  sup 
port,  Tomlin  has.  He's  fixin'  up  to  have  a  son-in-law, 
and  he's  already  got  a  daughter,  and  old  Minervy  Ann, 
who  brags  that  she  can  eat  as  much  as  she  can  cook. 
No,  you  can't  impose  on  Tomlin." 

"  Then,  what  in  the  world  will  I  do?  "  Mr.  Sanders 
asked  with  a  laugh.  He  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the 
tactics  of  the  Colonel. 

"  Well,  there  wasn't  any  small-pox  or  measles  at  my 
house  when  I  left  day  before  yesterday.  Suppose  we 
go  there,  and  see  if  there's  anything  the  matter.  If  the 
stable  hasn't  blown  away  or  burned  down,  maybe  you'll 
find  a  place  for  your  horse,  and  then  we  can  scuffle 

F  357  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

around  maybe,  and  find  something  to  cat.  That's  a  fire 
animal  you're  on.  He's  the  one,  I  reckon,  that  walked 
the  stringer,  after  the  bridge  had  been  washed  away.  I 
never  could  swallow  that  tale,  Mr.  Sanders." 

"  Nor  me  nuther,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders.  "  All  I  know 
is  that  he  took  me  across  the  river  one  dark  night  after 
a  fresh,  an'  some  folks  on  t'other  side  wouldn't  believe 
I  had  come  across.  They  got  to  the  place  whar  the 
bridge  ought  to  'a'  been  long  before  dark,  and  they 
found  it  all  gone  except  one  stringer.  I  seed  the  string 
er  arterwards,  but  I  never  could  make  up  my  mind  that 
my  hoss  walked  it  wi'  me  a-straddle  of  his  back." 

"  Still,  if  he  was  my  horse,"  Colonel  Blasengame  re 
marked,  "  I  wouldn't  take  a  thousand  dollars  for  him, 
and  I  reckon  you've  heard  it  rumoured  around  that  I 
haven't  got  any  more  money  than  two  good  steers  could 
pull." 

Mr.  Sanders  turned  his  horse's  head  in  the  direction 
that  Colonel  Blasengame  was  going,  and  when  they  ar 
rived  at  his  home,  he  stopped  at  the  gate.  "  Mr.  San 
ders,"  he  said,  taking  out  his  watch,  "  I'll  bet  you  two 
dollars  and  a  half  to  a  horn  button  that  breakfast  will 
be  ready  in  ten  minutes,  and  that  everything  will  be  fixed 
as  if  company  was  expected." 

And  it  was  true.  By  the  time  the  horse  had  been  put 
in  the  stable  and  fed,  breakfast  was  ready,  and  when  Mr. 
Sanders  was  ushered  into  the  room,  Mrs.  Blasengame 
was  sitting  in  her  place  at  the  table  pouring  out  coffee. 
She  was  a  frail  little  woman,  but  her  eyes  were  bright 
with  energy,  and  she  greeted  the  unexpected  guest  as 

[  358  j 


MR.    SANDERS    VISITS    FRIENDS 

cordially  as  if  he  had  come  on.  her  express  invitation. 
She  had  little  to  say  at  any  time,  but  when  she  spoke 
her  words  were  always  to  the  purpose. 

"  What  did  you  accomplish?  "  she  asked  her  husband, 
after  Mr.  Sanders,  as  in  duty  bound,  had  praised  the 
coffee  and  the  biscuit,  and  the  meal  was  well  under  way. 

"  Nothing,  honey ;  not  a  thing  in  the  world.  I 
thought  the  boys  had  been  carried  to  Atlanta,  but  they 
are  at  Fort  Pulaski." 

Mrs.  Blasengame  said  nothing  more,  and  the  Colonel 
was  for  talking  about  something  else,  but  the  curiosity 
of  Mr.  Sanders  was  aroused. 

"What  boys  was  you  referrin'  to,  Colonel?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  don't  like  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Sanders,"  replied  Col 
onel  Blasengame,  "  but  if  you'll  take  no  offence,  I'll  say 
that  the  boys  are  from  a  little  one-horse  country  settle 
ment  called  Shady  Dale,  a  place  where  the  people  are 
asleep  day  and  night.  A  parcel  of  Yankees  went  over 
there  the  other  night,  snatched  four  boys  out  of  their 
beds,  and  walked  off  with  them." 

"  That's  so,"  Mr.  Sanders  assented. 

"  Yes,  it's  so/'  cried  the  Colonel  hotly.  "  And  it's 
a —  He  caught  the  eye  of  his  wife  and  subsided. 

"  Excuse  me,  honey ;  I'm  rather  wrought  up  over  this 
thing.  What  worries  me,"  he  went  on,  "  is  that  the 
boys  were  yerked  out  of  bed,  and  carried  off,  and  then 
their  own  families  went  to  sleep  again.  But  suppose 
they  didn't  turn  over  and  go  back  to  sleep :  doesn't  that 
make  matters  worse?  I  can't  understand  it  to  save  my 

359 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

life.  Why,  if  it  had  happened  here,  the  whole  town 
would  have  been  wide  awake  in  ten  minutes,  and  the  boys 
would  never  have  been  carried  across  the  corporation 
line.  Tomlin  is  mighty  near  wild  about  it.  If  I  hadn't 
gone  to  Atlanta,  he  would  have  gone ;  and  you  know  how 
he  is,  honey.  Somebody  would  have  got  hurt." 

Yet,  strange  to  say,  Major  Tomlin  Perdue  was  far 
cooler  and  more  deliberate  than  his  brother-in-law,  Col 
onel  Blasengame.  It  was  the  peculiarity  of  each  that 
he  was  anxious  to  assume  all  the  dangerous  responsibili 
ties  with  which  the  other  might  be  confronted;  and  the 
only  serious  dispute  between  the  two  men  was  in  the 
shape  of  a  hot  controversy  as  to  which  should  call  to 
account  the  writer  of  a  card  in  which  Major  Perdue  was 
criticised  somewhat  more  freely  than  politeness  war 
ranted. 

"  You  are  correct  in  your  statement  about  the  four 
boys  bein'  took  away,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  "  but  you'll 
have  to  remember  that  the  woods  ain't  so  full  of  Blasen- 
games  an'  Perdues  as  they  used  to  be ;  an'  you  ain't  got 
in  this  town  a  big,  heavy  balance-wheel  the  size  an'  shape 
of  Meri  wether  Clop  ton." 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  were  about  to  be  too  hasty  in  your 
remarks,"  suggested  Mrs.  Blasengame.  Her  soft  voice 
had  a  strangely  soothing  effect  on  her  husband.  "  If 
some  of  our  young  men  had  been  seized,  all  of  us,  in 
cluding  you,  my  dear,  would  have  been  in  a  state  of 
paralysis,  just  as  our  friends  in  Shady  Dale  were." 

"  The  only  man  in  town  that  know'd  it,"  Mr.  Sanders 
explained,  "  was  Silas  Tomlin.  He  was  sleepin'  in  the 

360 


MR.    SANDERS    VISITS    FRIENDS 

same  room  wi'  Paul,  an'  they  rousted  him  out,  an'  took 
him  along.  They  carried  him  four  or  five  mile.  He 
had  to  walk  back,  an'  by  the  time  he  got  home,  the  sun 
was  up." 

"  That  puts  a  new  light  on  it,"  said  the  Colonel,  u  and 
Tomlin  will  be  as  glad  to  hear  it  as  I  am.  But  I  won 
der  what  the  rest  of  the  State  will  think  of  us." 

"  M/y  dear,  didn't  these  young  men,  and  the  Yankees 
who  arrested  them,  take  the  train  here?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Blasengame.  She  nodded  to  Mr.  Sanders,  and  a  pecul 
iar  smile  began  to  play  over  that  worthy's  features. 

"  By  George !  I  believe  they  did,  honey  !  "  exclaimed 
the  Colonel. 

"  And  in  broad  daylight?  "  persisted  the  lady. 

To  this  the  Colonel  made  no  reply,  and  Mr.  Sanders 
became  the  complainant.  "  I  dunner  what  we're  comin' 
to,"  he  declared,  "  when  a  passel  of  Yankees  can  yerk 
four  of  our  best  young  men  on  a  train  in  this  town  in 
broad  daylight,  an'  all  the  folks  a-stanin'  aroun'  gapin' 
at  'em,  an'  wonderin'  what  they're  gwine  to  do  next." 

"  Say  no  more,  Mr.  Sanders ;  say  no  more — the  mule 
is  yours."  This  in  the  slang  of  the  day  meant  that  the 
point  at  issue  had  been  surrendered. 

"  I  suppose  Lucy  Lumsden  is  utterly  crushed  on  Ga 
briel's  account,"  remarked  Mrs.  Blasengame. 

"  Crushed !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanders ;  "  no,  ma'am ! 
not  much,  if  any.  She's  fightin'  mad." 

"  I  know  well  how  she  feels,"  said  the  pale,  bright- 
eyed  little  woman.  "  It  is  a  pity  the  men  can't  have  the 
same  feeling." 

[  361  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Why,  honey,  what  good  would  it  do?  "  the  Colonel 
asked,  somewhat  querulously. 

"  It  would  do  no  good ;  it  would  do  harm — to  some 
people." 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  Colonel,  turning  to  Mr.  Sanders 
with  a  protesting  frown  on  his  face,  "  when  I  want  to 
show  some  fellow  that  I'm  still  on  top  of  the  ground,  or 
when  Tomlin  takes  down  his  gun  and  goes  after  some 
rascal,  she  makes  such  a  racket  that  you'd  think  the 
world  was  coming  to  an  end." 

"A  racket!  I  make  a  racket?  Why,  Mr.  Blasen- 
game,  I'm  ashamed  of  you !  the  idea !  " 

"  Well,  racket  ain't  the  word,  I  reckon ;  but  you  look 
so  sorry,  honey,  that  to  me  it's  the  same  as  making  a 
racket.  It  takes  all  the  grit  out  of  me  when  I  know 
that  you  are  sitting  here,  wondering  what  minute  I'll  be 
brought  home  cut  into  jiblets,  or  shot  full  of  holes." 

Mrs.  Blascngame  laughed,  as  she  rose  from  the  table. 
She  stood  tiptoe  to  pin  a  flower  in  her  husband's  button 
hole. 

"  You've  missed  a  good  deal,  Mr.  Sanders,"  said  the 
Colonel,  stooping  to  kiss  his  wife.  "  You  don't  know 
what  a  comfort  it  is  to  have  a  little  bit  of  a  woman  to 
boss  you,  and  cuss  you  out  with  her  eyes  when  you  git 
on  the  wrong  track." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  "  I  allers  feel  like  a  widow 
er  when  I  see  a  man  rcely  in  love  wi'  his  wife.  It's  a 
sight  that  ain't  as  common  as  it  used  to  be.  We'll  go 
now,  if  you're  ready,  an'  see  the  Major.  I  ain't  got 
much  time  to  tarry." 

[  362  1 


MR.    SANDERS    VISITS    FRIENDS 

"  Oh,  you  want  me  to  go  too?  "  said  the  Colonel  eager 
ly.  "  Well,  I'm  your  man;  you  can  just  count  on  me, 
no  matter  what  scheme  you've  got  on  hand." 

They  went  to  Major  Perdue's,  and  were  ushered  in  by 
Minervy  Ann.  "  I'm  mighty  glad  you  come,"  said 
she ;  "  kaze  'taint  been  ten  minnits  sence  Marse  Tomlin 
wuz  talkin'  'bout  gwine  over  dar  whar  you  live  at;  an' 
he  ain't  got  no  mo'  business  in  de  hot  sun  dan  a  rabbit 
is  got  in  a  blazin'  brushpile.  Miss  Vallie  done  tole  'im 
so,  an'  I  done  tole  'im  so.  He  went  ter  bed  wid  de  head 
ache,  an'  he  got  up  wid  it;  an'  what  you  call  dat,  ef 
'taint  bein'  sick  ?  But,  sick  er  well,  he'll  be  mighty  glad 
ter  see  you." 

Aunt  Minervy  Ann  made  haste  to  inform  the  Major 
that  he  had  visitors.  "  I  tuck  'em  in  de  settin'-room," 
she  said,  "  kaze  dat  parlour  look  ez  cold  ez  a  funer'l.  It 
give  me  de  shivers  eve'y  time  I  go  in  dar.  De  cheers  set 
dar  like  dey  waitin'  f er  ter  make  somebody  feel  like  dey 
ain't  welcome,  an'  dat  ar  sofy  look  like  a  coolin' -board." 

Mr.  Sanders  was  very  much  at  home  in  the  Major's 
house;  he  had  dandled  Vallie  on  his  knee  when  she  was 
a  baby ;  and  he  had  made  the  Maj  or's  troubles  his  own 
as  far  as  he  could.  Consequently  the  greeting  he  re 
ceived  was  as  cordial  as  he  could  have  desired.  "  Ma 
jor,"  he  said,  when  he  found  opportunity  to  state  the 
nature  of  his  business,  "  do  you  know  young  Gabe  Tol- 
liver?" 

"  Mighty  well — mighty  well,"  responded  Major  Per 
due,  "  and  a  fine  boy  he  is.  He'll  make  his  mark  some 
day." 

[  363  j 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Not  onlcss  we  do  somethin'  to  help  him  out.  They 
ain't  no  way  in  the  world  he  can  prove  that  he  didn't 
kill  that  feller  Hotchkiss.  Ike  Varner  done  the  killin', 
but  he's  gone,  an'  I  think  his  wife  is  fixin'  to  go  to  At 
lanta.  They've  got  the  dead  wood  on  Gabriel.  They 
ain't  no  case  at  all  ag'in  the  rest;  but  you  know  how 
Gabriel  is — he  goes  moonin'  about  in  the  fields  both  day 
an'  night,  an'  it's  mighty  hard  for  to  put  your  finger 
on  him  when  you  want  him.  An'  to  make  it  wuss,  Hotch 
kiss  called  his  name  more'n  once  before  he  died.  It  looks 
black  for  Gabriel,  an'  we  must  do  somethin'  for  him." 

Major  Perdue  leaned  forward  a  little,  a  frown  on  his 
face,  and  stretched  forth  his  left  hand,  in  the  palm  of 
which  he  placed  the  forefinger  of  his  right.  "  I'll  tell 
you  what,  Mr.  Sanders,  I'm  just  as  much  obliged  to  you 
for  coming  to  me  as  if  you  had  saved  me  from  drown 
ing.  I  have  come  to  the  point  where  I  can't  hold  in 
much  longer,  and  maybe  you'll  keep  me  from  making  a 
fool  of  myself.  I'll  say  beforehand,  I  don't  care  what 
your  plan  is  ;  I  don't  care  to  know  it — just  count  on  me." 

"  And  where  do  I  come  in?  "  Colonel  Blasengame  in 
quired. 

"  Right  by  my  side,"  responded  Major  Perdue. 

Without  further  preliminaries,  Mr.  Sanders  set  forth 
the  details  of  the  programme  that  had  arranged  itself 
in  his  mind,  and  when  he  was  through,  Major  Perdue 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  gazed  with  admiration  at 
the  bland  and  childlike  countenance  of  this  Georgia 
cracker.  The  innocence  of  childhood  shone  in  Mr.  San- 
ders's  blue  eyes. 

F  364   1 


MR.    SANDERS    VISITS    FRIENDS 

"  I  swear,  Mr.  Sanders,  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  have  the 
pleasure  of  serving  with  you  in  Virginia.  If  there  is 
anything  in  this  world  that  I  like  it's  a  man  with  a  head 
on  him,  and  that's  what  you've  got.  You  can  count  on 
us  if  we  arc  alive.  I  don't  know  how  Bolivar  feels  about 
it,  but  I  feel  that  you  have  done  me  a  great  favour  in 
thinking  of  me  in  connection  with  this  business.  You 
couldn't  pay  either  of  us  a  higher  compliment." 

"  Tomlin  expresses  my  views  exactly,"  said  Colonel 
Blasengame ;  "  yet  I  feel  that  one  of  us  will  be  enough. 
It  may  be  that  your  scheme  will  fail,  and  that  those  who 
are  engaged  in  it  will  have  to  take  the  consequence. 
Now,  I'd  rather  take  'em  alone  than  to  have  Tumlin 
mixed  up  with  it." 

"  Fiddlesticks,  Bolivar !  you  couldn't  keep  me  out  of 
it  unless  you  had  a  bench-warrant  served  on  me  five  min 
utes  before  the  train  left,  and  if  you  try  that,  I'll  have 
one  served  on  you.  Now,  don't  forget  to  tell  Tidwell 
that  I'll  be  glad  to  renew  that  dispute.  I  bear  no 
malice,  but  when  it  comes  to  a  row,  I  don't  need  malice 
to  keep  my  mind  and  my  gun  in  working  order.  I'm 
going  down  to  Malvern  to-morrow,  and  before  I  come 
away,  I'll  have  everything  fixed.  There  are  some  de 
tails,  you  know,  that  never  occurred  to  you :  the  police, 
for  instance.  Well,  the  chief  of  police  is  a  very  good 
friend  of  mine,  and  the  major  was  Bolivar's  adjutant." 

"  Well,  I  thank  the  Lord  for  all  his  mercies ! "  cried 
Mr.  Sanders ;  and  he  meant  what  he  said. 


[  365  ] 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-EIGHT 


Nan  and  Margaret 

J_T  was  hinted  in  some  of  the  early  chapters  of  this 
chronicle  that  none  of  the  characters  would  turn  out  to 
be  very  heroic,  but  this  was  a  mistake.  The  chronicler 
had  forgotten  a  few  episodes  that  grew  out  of  the  ex 
pedition  of  Cephas  to  Fort  Pulaski — episodes  that 
should  have  stood  out  clear  in  his  memory  from  the  first. 
Cephas  was  very  meek  and  humble  when  he  started  on 
his  expedition,  so  much  so  that  there  were  long  moments 
when  he  would  have  given  a  large  fortune,  if  he  had  pos 
sessed  it,  to  be  safe  at  home  with  his  mother.  A  hun 
dred  times  he  asked  himself  why  he  had  been  foolish 
enough  to  come  away  from  home,  and  trust  himself  to 
the  cold  mercy  of  the  world;  and  he  promised  himself 
faithfully  that  if  he  ever  got  back  home  alive,  he  would 
never  leave  there  again. 

Captain  Falconer  was  very  kind  and  attentive  to  the 
lad,  but  he  was  also  very  inquisitive.  He  asked  Cephas 
a  great  many  artful  questions,  all  leading  up  to  the 
message  he  was  to  deliver  to  Gabriel ;  but  the  instructions 
he  had  received  from  Mr.  Sanders  made  Cephas  more 
than  a  match  for  the  Captain,  \yhen  the  lad  came  to 
the  years  of  maturity,  he  often  wondered  how  a  plain 

[  366  1 


NAN    AND    MARGARET 

and  comparatively  ignorant  countryman  could  foresee 
the  questions  that  were  to  be  asked,  and  provide  simple 
and  satisfactory  answers  to  them ;  and  the  matter  is  still 
a  mystery. 

Well,  Cephas  was  not  a  hero  when  he  started,  and  if 
the  truth  is  to  be  told,  he  developed  none  of  the  symp 
toms  until  he  had  returned  home  safely,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Sanders.  Then  he  became  the  lion  of  the  village, 
and  was  sought  after  by  old  and  young.  All  wanted 
to  hear  the  story  of'  his  wonderful  adventures.  He 
speedily  became  a  celebrated  Cephas,  and  when  he  found 
that  he  was  really  regarded  as  a  hero  by  his  schoolmates, 
and  by  some  of  the  young  women,  he  was  quick  to  ap 
propriate  the  character.  He  became  reticent;  he  went 
about  with  a  sort  of  weary  and  travel-worn  look,  as  if 
he  had  seen  everything  that  was  worth  seeing,  and  heard 
everything  that  was  worth  hearing. 

Now,  what  Cephas  had  seen  and  heard  was  bad 
enough.  He  could  hardly  be  brought  to  believe  that  the 
haggard  and  wild-eyed  young  fellow  who  answered  to 
Gabriel's  name  at  the  fort  was  the  Gabriel  that  he  had 
known,  and  when  he  made  up  his  mind  that  it  really  was 
Gabriel,  he  couldn't  hold  the  tears  back.  "  Brace  up, 
old  man,"  said  Gabriel.  It  was  then  in  a  choking  voice 
that  Cephas  delivered  Mr.  Sanders's  message,  using  the 
dog-latin  which  they  both  knew  so  well.  And  in  that 
tongue  Gabriel  told  Cephas  of  the  tortures  to  which  hev 
and  his  fellow-prisoners  had  been  subjected,  of  the  hor-j 
rors  of  the  sweat-boxes,  and  the  terrors  of  the  wrist-rack.*^ 
So  effective  was  the  narrative  that  Gabriel  rattled  off  in  \ 

1  367  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

the  school  tongue,  that  when  he  was  ordered  back  to  his 
solitary  cell,  Cephas  turned  away  weeping.  He  was  no 
hero  then ;  he  was  simply  a  small  boy  with  a  tender  heart. 

There  were  grave  faces  at  Shady  Dale  when  Cephas 
told  what  he  had  seen  and  heard.  Major  Tomlin  Per 
due,  of  Halcyondale,  became  almost  savage  when  he 
heard  of  the  indignities  to  which  the  unfortunate  young 
men  had  been  subjected.  He  wrote  a  card  and  pub 
lished  it  in  the  Malvern  Recorder,  and  the  card  was  so 
much  to  the  purpose,  and  created  such  indignation  in 
the  State,  that  the  authorities  at  Washington  took  cog 
nisance  thereof,  and  issued  orders  that  there  was  to  be 
no  more  torture  of  the  prisoners.  This  fact,  however, 
was  not  known  until  months  afterward,  and,  meanwhile, 
the  newspapers  of  Georgia  were  giving  a  wide  publicity 
to  the  cruelties  which  had  been  practised  on  the  young 
men,  and  radicalism  became  the  synonym  of  everything 
that  was  loathsome  and  detestable.  Reprisals  were 
made  in  all  parts  of  the  State,  and  as  was  to  be  expected, 
4.  the  negroes  were  compelled  to  bear  the  brunt  of  all  the 
excitement  and  indignation. 

The  talc  that  Cephas  told  to  Mr.  Sanders  was  modest 
when  compared  to  the  inventions  that  occurred  to  his 
mind  after  he  found  how  easy  it  was  to  be  a  hero. 
Though  he  pretended  to  be  heartily  tired  of  the  whole 
subject,  there  was  nothing  that  tickled  him  more  than 
to  be  cornered  by  a  crowd  of  his  schoolmates  and  com 
rades,  all  intent  on  hearing  anew  the  awful  recital  which 
Cephas  had  prepared  after  his  return. 

One  of  the  first  to  seek  Cephas  out  was  Nan  Dorring- 
1  368  J 


NAN    AND     MARGARET 

ton,  and  this  was  precisely  what  the  young  hero  wanted. 
He  was  very  cold  and  indifferent  when  Nan  besought 
him  to  tell  her  all  about  his  trip.  How  did  he  enjoy 
himself?  and  didn't  he  wish  he  was  back  at  home  many 
a  time?  And  what  did  Paul  and  Jesse  have  to  say? 
Ah,  Cephas  had  his  innings  now ! 

"  I  didn't  see  Paul  and  Jesse,"  replied  Cephas,  "  and 
I  didn't  see  Francis  Bethune." 

"  Did  they  have  them  hid?  "  asked  Nan. 

"  I  don't  know.  The  one  I  saw  was  in  a  black  dun 
geon.  I  couldn't  hardly  see  his  face,  and  when  I  did 
see  it,  I  was  sorry  I  saw  it."  Cephas  leaned  back 
against  the  fence  with  the  air  of  a  fellow  who  has  seen 
too  much.  Nan  was  dying  to  ask  a  hundred  questions 
about  the  one  Cephas  had  seen,  but  she  resented  his  in 
different  and  placid  attitude.  All  heroes  are  placid  and 
indifferent  when  they  discuss  their  deeds,  but  they 
wouldn't  be  if  the  public  in  general  felt  toward  them  as 
Nan  felt  toward  Cephas.  The  only  reason  she  didn't 
seize  the  little  fellow  and  give  him  a  good  shaking  was 
the  fact  that  she  was  dying  to  hear  all  he  had  to  say 
about  his  visit,  and  all  about  Gabriel. 

Gradually  Cephas  thawed  out.  One  or  the  other  had 
to  surrender,  and  the  small  boy  had  no  such  incentive 
to  silence  as  Nan  had.  His  pride  was  not  involved, 
whereas  Nan  would  have  gone  to  the  rack  and  suffered 
herself  to  be  pulled  to  pieces  before  she  would  have  asked 
any  direct  questions  about  Gabriel. 

"  I'm  mighty  sorry  I  went,"  said  Cephas  finally,  and 
then  he  stopped  short. 

[  369  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"Why?"  inquired  Nan. 

"  Oh,  well — I  don't  know  exactly.  I  thought  I  would 
find  everybody  just  like  they  were  before  they  went  away, 
but  the  one  I  saw  looked  like  a  drove  of  mules  had  trom- 
pled  on  him.  He  didn't  have  on  any  coat,  and  his  shirt 
was  torn  and  dirty,  and  his  face  looked  like  he  had  been 
sick  a  month.  His  eyes  were  hollow,  and  had  black  cir 
cles  around  them." 

"  Did  he  say  anything?  "  asked  Nan  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Yes,  he  said,  '  Brace  up,  old  man.'  " 

"Was  that  all?" 

"  And  then  he  asked  if  anybody  had  sent  him  any 
word,  and  I  said,  '  Nobody  but  Mr.  Sanders  ' ;  and  then 
he  said,  '  I  might  have  known  that  he  wouldn't  forget 
me.'  Cephas  could  see  Nan  crushing  her  handkerchief 
in  her  hand,  and  he  enjoyed  it  immensely. 

"  Was  he  angry  with  any  one?  "  Nan  asked. 

"  Why,  when  did  anybody  ever  hear  of  his  being  an 
gry  with  any  one  he  thought  was  a  friend?  "  exclaimed 
Cephas  scornfully.  Nan  writhed  at  this,  and  Cephas 
went  on.  "  He  had  been  tied  up  by  the  wrists,  and  then 
he  had  been  put  in  a  sweat-box,  and  nearly  roasted — 
yes,  by  grabs !  pretty  nigh  cooked." 

"  Why,  you  didn't  tell  his  grandmother  that,"  said 
Nan. 

"  Well,  I  should  say  not ! "  exclaimed  Cephas. 
"  What  do  you  take  me  for?  Do  you  reckon  I'd  tell  that 
to  anybody  that  cared  anything  for  him?  Why,  I 
wouldn't  tell  his  grandmother  that  for  anything  in  the 
world,  and  if  she  was  to  ask  me  about  it,  I'd  deny  it." 

f  370  ] 


NAN     AND     MARGARET 

This  arrow  went  home.  Cephas  had  the  unmixed 
pleasure  of  seeing  Nan  turn  pale.  "  I  think  you  are 
simply  awful,"  she  gasped.  "  You  are  cruel,  and  you 
are  unkind.  You  know  very  well  that  I  care  something 
for  Gabriel.  Haven't  we  been  friends  since  we  were 
children  together?  Do  you  suppose  I  have  no  feel- 
ings?" 

"  I  know  what  you  said  when  I  told  you  I  was  going 
to  see  Gabriel." 

"  What  was  that?  "  inquired  Nan. 

"  Why,  you  said,  «  Well,  what  is  that  to  me? '  "  ex 
claimed  Cephas.  He  twisted  his  face  awry,  and  mim 
icked  Nan's  voice  with  considerable  success,  only  he  made 
it  more  spiteful  than  that  charming  young  woman  could 
have  done. 

"  Yes,  I  did  say  that,  but  didn't  I  go  to  your  house, 
and  tell  you  what  to  say  to  Gabriel?  " 

Cephas  laughed  scornfully.  "  Did  you  think  I  was 
going  to  swallow  the  joke  that  you  and  that  Claiborne 
girl  hatched  up  between  you?  Do  you  reckon  I'm  fool 
enough  to  tell  Gabriel  that  you'll  die  if  he  don't  come 
home  soon?  " 

"  You  didn't  tell  him,  then?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  replied  Cephas.  "  I  would  cut  off 
one  of  my  fingers  before  I'd  let  him  know  that  there  were 
people  here  at  home  making  fun  of  him." 

Nan  gazed  at  Cephas  as  if  she  suspected  him  of  a  joke. 
But  she  saw  that  he  was  very  much  in  earnest.  "  I'm 
glad  you  didn't  tell  him,"  she  said  finally.  Then  she 
laughed,  saying,  "  Cephas,  I  really  did  think  you  had 
a  little  sense." 

[   371    1 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

"  I  have  sense  enough  not  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  them 
that  like  me,"  the  boy  replied.  And  he  went  on  his  way, 
trying  to  reconcile  the  Nan  Dorrington  who  used  to  be 
so  kind  to  him  with  the  Nan  Dorrington  who  was  flirting 
and  flitting  around  with  long  skirts  on.  He  failed,  as 
older  and  more  experienced  persons  have  failed. 

But  you  may  be  sure  that  he  felt  himself  no  less  a 
hero  because  Nan  Dorrington  had  hinted  that  he  had 
no  sense.  He  knew  where  the  lack  of  sense  was.  After 
awhile,  when  interested  persons  ceased  to  run  after  him 
to  get  all  the  particulars  of  his  visit  to  Fort  Pulaski,  he 
threw  himself  in  their  way,  and  when  the  details  of  his 
journey  began  to  pall  on  the  appetite  of  his  friends,  he 
invented  new  ones,  and  in  this  way  managed  to  keep  the 
centre  of  the  stage  for  some  time.  When  he  could  no 
longer  interest  the  older  folk,  he  had  the  school-children 
to  fall  back  upon,  and  you  may  believe  that  he  caused 
the  youngsters  to  sit  with  open-mouthed  wonder  at  the 
tales  he  told.  The  fact  that  he  stammered  a  little,  and 
sometimes  hesitated  for  a  word,  made  not  the  slightest 
difference  with  his  audience  of  young  people. 

There  was  one  fact  that  bothered  Cephas.  He  had 
been  told  that  Francis  Bethune  was  in  love  with  Mar 
garet  Gaither,  and  he  knew  that  the  young  man  was 
a  constant  caller  at  Neighbour  Tomlin's,  where  Mar 
garet  lived.  Indeed,  he  had  carried  notes  to  her  from 
the  young  man,  and  had  faithfully  delivered  the  replies. 
He  judged,  therefore,  as  well  as  a  small  boy  can  judge, 
that  there  was  some  sort  of  an  understanding  between  the 
two,  and  he  itched  for  the  opportunity  to  pour  the  tale 

f  372  1 


NAN     AND     MARGARET 

of  his  adventures  into  Margaret's  ears.  He  loitered 
around  the  house,  and  threw  himself  in  Margaret's  way 
when  she  went  out  visiting  or  shopping.  She  greeted 
him  very  kindly  on  each  particular  occasion,  but  not  once 
did  she  betray  any  interest  in  Francis  Bethune  or  his 
fellow-prisoners. 

When  Nan  met  Cephas,  on  the  occasion  of  the  inter 
view  which  has  just  been  reported,  she  was  on  her  way 
to  Neighbour  Tomlin's  to  pay  a  visit  to  Margaret,  and 
thither  she  went,  after  giving  Cephas  the  benefit  of  her 
views  as  to  his  mental  capacity.  Margaret  happened  to 
be  out  at  the  moment,  but  Miss  Fanny  insisted  that  Nan 
should  come  in  anyhow. 

"  Margaret  will  be  back  directly,"  Miss  Fanny  said ; 
"  she  has  only  gone  to  the  stores  to  match  a  piece  of  rib 
bon.  Besides,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  a  little  while.  But 
good  gracious !  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  I  expect 
ed  cheerfulness  from  you  at  least,  but  what  do  I  find? 
Well,  you  and  Margaret  should  live  in  the  same  house; 
they  say  misery  loves  company.  Here  I  was  about  to 
ask  you  why  Margaret  is  unhappy,  and  I  find  you 
looking  out  of  Margaret's  eyes.  Are  you  unhappy, 
too?" 

"  No,  Aunt  Fanny,  I'm  not  unhappy ;  I'm  angry.  I 
don't  see  why  girls  should  become  grown.  Why,  I  was 
always  in  a  good  humour  until  I  put  on  long  skirts,  and 
then  my  troubles  began.  I  can  neither  run  nor  play ;  I 
must  be  on  my  dignity  all  the  time  for  fear  some  one 
will  raise  her  hands  and  say,  '  Do  look  at  that  Nan  Dor- 
rington !  Isn't  she  a  bold  piece  ?  '  I  never  was  so  tired 

F  373  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

of  anything  in  my  life  as  I  am  of  being  grown.     I  never 
will  get  used  to  it." 

"  Oh,  you'll  get  in  the  habit  of  it  after  awhile,  child," 
said  Miss  Fanny.  "  But  I  never  would  have  believed 
that  Nan  Dorrington  would  care  very  much  for  what 
people  said." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  on  my  account  that  I  care,"  remarked 
Nan,  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  "  but  I  don't  want  my 
friends  to  have  their  feelings  hurt  by  what  other  people 
say.  If  there  is  anything  in  this  world  I  detest  it  is  dig 
nity — I  don't  mean  Margaret's  kind,  because  she  was 
born  so  and  can't  help  it — but  the  kind  that  is  put  on 
and  taken  off  like  a  summer  bonnet.  If  I  can't  be  my 
self,  I'll  do  like  Leese  Clopton  did,  I'll  go  into  a  con 
vent." 

"  Well,  you  certainly  would  astonish  the  nuns  when 
you  began  to  cut  some  of  your  capers,"  Miss  Fanny  de 
clared. 

"  Am  I  as  bad  as  all  that?,  Tell  me  honestly,  Aunt 
Fanny,  now  while  I  am  in  the  humour  to  hear  it,  what 
do  I  do  that  is  so  terrible?  " 

"  Honestly,  Nan,  you  do  nothing  terrible  at  all.  Not 
even  Miss  Puella  Gillum  could  criticise  you." 

"  Why,  Miss  Puella  never  criticises  any  one.  She's 
just  as  sweet  as  she  can  be." 

"  Well,  she's  an  old  maid,  you  know,  and  old  maids 
are  supposed  to  be  critical,"  said  Miss  Fanny.  "  I'll 
tell  you  where  all  the  trouble  is,  Nan :  you  are  sensitive, 
and  you  have  an  idea  that  you  must  behave  as  some  of 
the  other  girls  do — that  you  must  hold  your  hands  and 

f  374  1 


NAN     AND    MARGARET 

your  head  just  so.  If  you  would  be  yourself,  and  for 
get  all  about  etiquette  and  manners,  you'd  satisfy  every 
body,  especially  yourself." 

"  Why,  that  is  what  worries  me  now ;  I  do  forget  all 
about  those  things,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  I  realise 
that  I  am  acting  like  a  child,  and  a  very  noisy  child  at 
that,  and  then  I'm  afraid  some  one  will  make  remarks. 
It  is  all  very  miserable  and  disagreeable,  and  I  wish  there 
wasn't  a  long  skirt  in  the  world." 

"  Well,  when  you  get  as  old  as  I  am,"  sighed  Miss 
Fanny,  "  you  won't  mind  little  things  like  that.  Mar 
garet  is  coming  now.  I'll  leave  you  with  her.  Try  to 
find  out  why  she  is  unhappy.  Pulaski  is  nearly  worried 
to  death  about  it,  and  so  am  I." 

Margaret  Gaither  came  in  as  sedately  as  an  old 
woman.  She  was  very  fond  of  Nan,  and  greeted  her 
accordingly.  Whatever  her  trouble  was,  it  had  made 
no  attack  on  her  health.  She  had  a  fine  color,  and  her 
eyes  were  bright;  but  there  was  the  little  frown  between 
her  eyebrows  that  had  attracted  the  attention  of  Gabriel, 
and  it  gave  her  a  troubled  look. 

"  If  you'll  tell  me  something  nice  and  pleasant,"  she 
said  to  Nan,  "  I'll  be  under  many  obligations  to  you. 
Tell  me  something  funny,  or  if  you  don't  know  anything 
funny,  tell  me  something  horrible — anything  for  a 
change.  I  saw  Cephas  downtown;  that  child  has  been 
trying  for  days  to  tell  me  of  his  adventures,  and  I  have 
been  dying  to  hear  them.  But  I  keep  out  of  his  way ; 
I  am  so  perverse  that  I  refuse  to  give  myself  that  much 
pleasure.  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  mean  I  am,  you 

\  375  1 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

wouldn't  sit  there  smiling.  I  hear  that  the  dear  boys 
are  having  a  good  deal  of  trouble.  Well,  it  serves  them 
right;  they  had  no  business  to  be  boys.  They  should 
have  been  girls;  then  they  would  have  been  perfectly 
happy  all  the  time.  Don't  you  think  so,  sweet  child?  " 

Nan  regarded  her  friend  with  astonishment.  She  had 
never  heard  her  talk  in  such  a  strain  before.  "  Why, 
what  is  the  matter  with  you,  Margaret  ?  You  know  that 
girls  can  be  as  unhappy  as  boys;  yes,  and  a  thousand 
times  more  so." 

"  Oh,  I'll  never  believe  it !  never !  "  cried  Margaret. 
"  Why,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  any  girl  can  be  un 
happy?  You'll  have  to  prove  it,  Nan;  you'll  have  to 
give  the  name,  and  furnish  dates,  and  then  you'll  have 
to  give  the  reason.  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  you 
intend  to  offer  yourself  as  the  horrible  example?  Fie 
on  you,  Nan!  You're  in  love,  and  you  mistake  that 
state  for  unhappiness.  Why,  that  is  the  height  of  bliss. 
Look  at  me !  I'm  in  love,  and  see  how  happy  I  am !  " 

"  I  know  one  thing,"  said  Nan,  and  her  voice  was  low 
and  subdued,  "  if  you  go  on  like  that,  you'll  frighten 
me  away.  Do  you  want  to  make  your  best  friends 
miserable?  " 

"  Why,  certainly,"  replied  Margaret.  "  What  are 
friends  for?  I  should  dislike  very  much  to  have  a  friend 
that  I  couldn't  make  miserable.  But  if  you  think  you 
are  going  to  run  away,  come  up  to  my  room  and 
we'll  lock  ourselves  in,  and  then  I  know  you  can't  get 
away." 

"  Now,  what  is  the  matter?  "  Nan  insisted,  when  they 
f  376  I 


NAN     AND     MARGARET 

had  gone  upstairs,  and  were  safe  in  Margaret's  room. 
She  had  seized  her  friend  in  her  arms,  and  her  tone  was 
imploring. 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  tell  you,  Nan ;  you  would  con 
sider  me  a  fool,  and  I  want  to  keep  your  good  opinion. 
But  I  can  tell  you  a  part  of  my  troubles.  He  wants  me 
to  marry  Francis  Bethune !  Think  of  that ! "  She 
paused  and  looked  at  Nan.  "  Well,  why  don't  you  con 
gratulate  me?  " 

"  I'll  never  believe  that,"  said  Nan,  decisively.  "  Did 
he  say  that  he  wanted  you  to  marry  Frank  Bethune?  " 
The  "  he  "  in  this  case  was  Pulaski  Tomlin. 

"  Well,  he  didn't  insist  on  it ;  he's  too  kind  for  that. 
But  Francis  has  been  coming  here  very  often,  until  our 
friends  in  blue  gave  him  a  much-needed  rest,  and  I  sup 
pose  I  must  have  been  going  around  looking  somewhat 
gloomy ;  you  know  how  I  am — I  can't  be  gay ;  and  then 
he  asked  me  what  the  trouble  was,  and  finally  said  that 
Francis  would  make  me  a  good  husband.  Why,  I  could 
have  killed  myself !  Think  of  me,  in  this  house,  and  oc 
cupying  the  position  I  do !  " 

Such  heat  and  fury  Nan  had  never  seen  her  friend 
display  before.  "  Why,  Margaret !  "  she  cried,  "  you 
don't  know  what  you  are  saying.  Why,  if  he  or  Aunt 
Fanny  could  hear  you,  they  would  be  perfectly  miser 
able.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  feel  that  way." 

"  No,  you  don't,  and  I  hope  you  never  will !  "  ex 
claimed  Margaret.  "  Nobody  knows  how  I  feel.  If  I 
could,  I  would  tell  you — but  I  can't,  I  can't !  " 

"  Margaret,"  said  Nan,  in  a  most  serious  tone,  "  has 
f  377  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

he  or  Aunt  Fanny  ever  treated  you  unkindly  ?  "  Nan 
was  prepared  to  hear  the  worst. 

"  Unkindly !  "  cried  Margaret,  bursting  into  tears-* 
"  oh,  I  wish  they  would !  I  wish  they  would  treat  me 
as  I  deserve  to  be  treated.  Oh,  if  he  would  treat  me  cru 
elly,  or  do  something  to  wound  my  feelings,  I  would 
bless  him." 

Margaret  had  led  Nan  into  a  strange  country,  so  to 
speak,  and  she  knew  not  which  way  to  turn  or  what  to 
say.  Something  was  wrong,  but  what?  Of  all  Nan's 
acquaintances,  Margaret  was  the  most  self-contained, 
the  most  evenly  balanced.  Many  and  many  a  time  Nan 
had  envied  Margaret's  serenity,  and  now  here  she  was 
in  tears,  after  talking  as  wildly  as  some  hysterical 
person. 

"  Come  home  with  me,  Margaret,"  cried  Nan.  "  May 
be  the  change  would  do  you  good." 

"  I  thank  you,  Nan.  You  are  as  good  as  you  can  be ; 
you  are  almost  as  good  as  the  people  here;  but  I  can't 
go.  I  can't  leave  this  house  for  any  length  of  time  until 
I  leave  it  for  good.  I'd  be  wild  to  get  back ;  my  misery 
fascinates  me ;  I  hate  it  and  hug  it." 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  don't  understand  you  at  all,"  said 
Nan,  in  a  tone  of  despair. 

"  No,  and  you  never  will,"  Margaret  affirmed.  "  To 
understand  you  would  have  to  feel  as  I  do,  and  I  hope 
you  may  be  spared  that  experience  all  the  days  of  your 
life." 

After  awhile  Nan  decided  that  Margaret  would  be 
more  comfortable  if  she  were  alone,  and  so  she  bade  her 

[  378  ] 


NAN     AND     MARGARET 

friend  good-bye,  and  went  downstairs,  where  she  found 
Miss  Fanny  awaiting  her  somewhat  impatiently. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  trouble,  child?  "  she  asked. 

Nan  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  know,  Aunt  Fanny, 
and  I  don't  believe  she  knows  herself." 

"  But  didn't  she  give  you  some  hint — some  intima 
tion  ?  I  don't  want  to  be  inquisitive,  child ;  but  if  she's 
in  trouble,  I  want  to  find  some  remedy  for  it.  Pulaski 
is  in  a  terrible  state  of  mind  about  her,  and  I  am  consid 
erably  worried  myself.  We  love  her  just  as  much  as  if 
she  were  our  own,  and  yet  we  can't  go  to  her  and  make 
a  serious  effort  to  discover  what  is  worrying  her.  She 
is  proud  and  sensitive,  and  we  have  to  be  very  careful. 
Oh,  I  hope  we  have  done  nothing  to  wound  that  child's 
feelings." 

"  It  isn't  that,"  replied  Nan.  «  I  asked  her,  and  she 
said  that  you  treated  her  too  kindly." 

"  Well,"  sighed  Miss  Fanny,  "  if  she  won't  confide  in 
us,  she'll  have  to  bear  her  troubles  alone.  It  is  a  pity, 
but  sometimes  it  is  best." 

And  then  there  came  a  knock  on  the  door,  and  it  was 
so  sudden  and  unexpected  that  Nan  gave  a  jump. 


I  379 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-NINE 


Bridalbin  Finds  His  Daughter 

A  KEY'S  a  gentleman  out  there  what  says  he  wanter 
see  Miss  Bridalbin,"  said  the  house-girl  who  had  gone  to 
the  door.  "  I  tol'  him  they  wan't  no  sech  lady  here,  but 
he  say  they  is.  It's  that  there  Mr.  Borin',"  the  girl  went 
on,  "  an'  I  didn't  know  if  you'd  let  him  go  in  the  par 
lour." 

"  Yes,  ask  him  in  the  parlour,"  said  Miss  Fanny 9 
"  and  then  go  upstairs  and  tell  Miss  Margaret  that  some 
one  wants  to  see  her." 

"  Oh,  yessum !  "  said  the  house-girl  with  a  laugh ;  "  it's 
Miss  Marg'ret ;  I  clean  forgot  her  yuther  name." 

"  The  rascal  certainly  has  impudence,"  remarked 
Miss  Fanny.  "  Pulaski  should  know  about  this." 
Whereupon,  she  promptly,  called  Neighbour  Tomlin  out 
of  the  library,  and  he  came  into  the  room  just  as  Mar 
garet  came  downstairs. 

"  Wait  one  moment,  Margaret,"  he  said.     "  It  may 
be  well  for  me  to  see  what  this  man  wants — unless — 
He  paused.     "  Do  you  know  this  Boring?  " 

"  No ;  I  have  heard  of  him.  I  have  never  even  seen 
him  that  I  know  of." 

"  Then  I'll  see  him  first,"    said  Neighbour  Tomlin. 
[  380  ] 


BRIDALBIN    FINDS    HIS   DAUGHTER 

He  went  into  the  parlour,  and  those  who  were  listening 
heard  a  subdued  murmur  of  voices. 

"What  is  your  business  with  Miss  Bridalbin?" 
Neighbour  Tomlin  asked,  ignoring  the  proffered  hand 
of  the  visitor. 

"  I  am  her  father." 

Neighbour  Tomlin  stood  staring  at  the  man  as  if  he 
were  dazed.  Bridalbin's  face  bore  the  unmistakable 
marks  of  alcoholism,  and  he  had  evidently  prepared  him 
self  for  this  interview  by  touching  the  bottle,  for  he  held 
himself  with  a  swagger. 

Neighbour  Tomlin  said  not  a  word  in  reply  to  the 
man's  declaration.  He  stared  at  him,  and  turned  and 
went  back  into  the  sitting-room  where  he  had  left  the 
others. 

"  Why,  Pulaski,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter?  "  cried 
Miss  Fanny,  as  he  entered  the  room.  "  You  look  as  if 
you  had  seen  a  ghost."  And  indeed  his  face  was  white, 
and  there  was  an  expression  in  his  eyes  that  Nan  thought 
was  most  piteous. 

"  Go  in,  my  dear,"  he  said  to  Margaret.  "  The  man 
has  business  with  you."  And  then,  when  Margaret  had 
gone  out,  he  turned  to  Miss  Fanny.  "  It  is  her  father," 
he  said. 

"Well,  I  wonder  what's  he  up  to?"  remarked  Miss 
Fanny.  There  was  a  touch  of  anger  in  her  voice.  "  She 
shan't  go  a  step  away  from  here  with  such  a  creature  as 
that." 

"  She  is  her  own  mistress,  sister.  She  is  twenty  years 
old,"  replied  Neighbour  Tomlin. 

[381    ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Well,  she'll  be  very  ungrateful  if  she  leaves  us," 
said  Miss  Fanny,  with  some  emphasis. 

"  Don't,  sister ;  never  use  that  word  again ;  to  me  it 
has  an  ugly  sound.  We  have  had  no  thought  of  grati 
tude  in  the  matter.  If  there  is  any  debt  in  the  matter, 
we  are  the  debtors.  We  have  not  been  at  all  happy  in 
the  way  we  have  managed  things.  I  have  seen  for  some 
time  that  Margaret  is  unhappy;  and  we  have  no  busi 
ness  to  permit  unhappiness  to  creep  into  this  house."  So 
said  Neighbour  Tomlin,  and  the  tones  of  his  voice  seemed 
to  issue  from  the  fountains  of  grief. 

"  Well,  I  am  sure  I  have  done  all  I  could  to  make  the 
poor  child  happy,"  Miss  Fanny  declared. 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  Neighbour  Tomlin.  "  If 
any  mistake  has  been  made  it  is  mine.  And  yet  I  have 
never  had  any  other  thought  than  to  make  Margaret 
happy." 

"  I  know  that  well  enough,  Pulaski,"  Miss  Fanny  as 
sented,  "  and  I  have  sometimes  had  an  idea  that  you 
thought  too  much  about  her  for  your  own  good." 

"  That  is  true,"  he  replied.  He  was  a  merciless  critic 
of  himself  in  matters  both  great  and  small,  and  he  had 
no  concealments  to  make.  He  was  open  as  the  day,  ex 
cept  where  openness  might  render  others  unhappy  or 
uncomfortable.  "  Yes,  you  are  right,"  he  insisted ;  "  I 
have  thought  too  much  about  her  happiness  for  my  own 
good,  and  now  I  see  myself  on  the  verge  of  great 
trouble." 

"  If  Margaret  understood  the  situation,"  said  Miss 
Fanny,  "  I  think  she  would  feel  differently." 

[    382    ] 


BRIDALBIN    FINDS    HIS    DAUGHTER 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  she  understands  the  situa 
tion  perfectly  well;  that  is  the  only  explanation  of  her 
troubles  which  she  has  not  sought  to  conceal." 

At  that  moment  Margaret  came  to  the  door.  Her 
face  was  very  pale,  almost  ghastly,  indeed,  but  whatever 
trouble  may  have  looked  from  her  eyes  before,  they  were 
clear  now.  She  came  into  the  room  with  a  little  smile 
hovering  around  her  mouth.  She  had  no  eyes  for  any 
one  but  Pulaski  Tomlin,  and  to  him  she  spoke. 

"  My  father  has  come,"  she  said.  "  He  is  not  such  a 
father  as  I  would  have  selected;  still,  he  is  my  father. 
I  knew  him  the  moment  I  opened  the  door.  He  wants 
me  to  go  with  him ;  he  says  he  is  able  to  provide  for  me. 
He  has  claims  on  me." 

"  Have  we  none  ?  "  Miss  Fanny  asked. 

"  More  than  anybody  in  the  world,"  replied  Mar 
garet,  turning  to  her ;  "  more  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  put  together.  But  I  have  always  said  to  myself," 
she  addressed  Neighbour  Tomlin  again,  "  that  if  it 
should  ever  happen  that  I  found  myself  unable  to  carry 
out  your  wishes,  sir,  it  would  be  best  for  me  to  leave  your 
roof,  where  all  my  happiness  has  come  to  me."  She  was 
very  humble,  both  in  speech  and  demeanour. 

Neighbour  Tomlin  looked  at  her  with  a  puzzled  and 
a  grieved  expression.  "  Why,  I  don't  understand  you, 
Margaret,"  said  Neighbour  Tomlin.  "  What  wish  of 
mine  have  you  found  yourself  unable  to  carry  out?  " 

"  Only  one,  sir ;  but  that  was  a  very  important  one ; 
you  desired  me  to  marry  Mr.  Bethune." 

"I?  Why,  you  were  never  more  mistaken  in  your  life," 
[  383  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

replied  Neighbour  Tomlin,  with  what  Miss  Fanny 
thought  was  unnecessary  energy.  "  I  may  have  sug 
gested  it;  I  saw  you  gloomy  and  unhappy,  and  I  had 
observed  the  devotion  of  the  young  man.  What  more 
natural  than  for  me  to  suggest  that — Margaret!  you 
are  giving  me  a  terrible  wound !  "  He  turned  and  went 
into  the  library,  and  Margaret  ran  after  him. 

It  is  probable  that  Nan  knows  better  than  any  out 
sider  what  occurred  then.  It  seems  that  Margaret,  in 
her  excitement,  forgot  to  close  the  door  after  her,  and 
Nan  was  sitting  where  she  could  see  pretty  much  every 
thing  that  happened;  and  she  had  a  delicious  little  tale 
to  tell  her  dear  Johnny  when  she  went  home,  a  tale  so 
impossible  and  romantic  that  she  forgot  her  own 
troubles,  and  fairly  glowed  with  happiness.  But  it  is 
best  not  to  depend  too  much  on  what  Nan  saw,  though  her 
sight  was  fairly  good  where  her  interests  were  enlisted. 

Margaret  ran  after  Neighbour  Tomlin  and  seized  him 
by  the  arm.  "  Oh,  I  never  meant  to  wound  you,"  she 
cried — "  you  who  have  been  so  kind,  and  so  good !  Oh, 
if  you  could  only  read  my  heart,  you  would  forgive  me, 
instantly  and  forever." 

"  I  can  read  my  own  heart,"  said  Neighbour  Tomlin, 
"  and  it  has  but  one  feeling  for  you." 

"  Then  kiss  me  good-bye,"  she  said.  "  I  am  going 
with  my  father." 

"  If  I  kiss  you,"  he  replied,  "  you'll  not  go." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  he  at  her,  and  she  found  her 
self  in  the  focus  of  a  light  that  enabled  her  to  see  every 
thing  more  clearly.  She  caught  his  secret  and  he  hers, 

[  384  1 


BRIDALBIN    FINDS    HIS    DAUGHTER 

and  there  was  no  longer  any  room  for  misunderstanding. 
Her  father,  weak  as  he  was,  had  been  strong  enough  to 
provide  his  daughter  with  a  remedy  for  the  only  serious 
trouble,  short  of  bereavement,  that  his  daughter  was  ever 
to  know.  She  refused  to  return  to  the  parlour,  where 
he  awaited  her. 

"  Shall  I  go?  "  said  Neighbour  Tomlin. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Margaret,  with  a  faint 
smile.  She  could  hardly  realise  the  change  that  had  so 
suddenly  taken  place  in  her  hopes  and  her  plans,  so  swift 
and  unexpected  had  it  been. 

Neighbour  Tomlin  went  into  the  parlour,  and  made 
Bridalbin  acquainted  with  the  facts. 

"  Margaret  has  changed  her  mind,"  said  Neighbour 
Tomlin.  "  She  thinks  it  is  best  to  remain  under  the 
care  and  protection  of  those  whom  she  knows  better  than 
she  knows  her  father." 

"  Why,  she  seemed  eager  to  go  a  moment  ago,"  said 
Bridalbin ;  "  and  you  must  remember  that  she  is  my , 
daughter." 

"  Her  friends  couldn't  forget  that  under  all  the  cir 
cumstances,"  Neighbour  Tomlin  remarked  drily. 

"  I  believe  her  mind  has  been  poisoned  against  me," 
Bridalbin  declared. 

"  That  is  quite  possible,"  replied  Neighbour  Tomlin ; 
"  and  I  think  you  could  easily  guess  the  name  of  the 
poisoner." 

"  May  I  see  my  daughter?  " 

"  That  rests  entirely  with  her,"  said  Neighbor  Tomlin. 

But  Margaret  refused  to  see  him  again.     Since  her 
385 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

own  troubles  had  been  so  completely  swept  away,  her 
memory  reverted  to  all  the  troubles  her  mother  had  to 
endure,  as  the  result  of  Bridalbin's  lack  of  fixed  prin 
ciples,  and  she  sent  him  word  that  she  would  prefer  not 
to  see  him  then  or  ever  afterward ;  and  so  the  man  went 
away,  more  bent  on  doing  mischief  than  ever,  though  he 
was  compelled  to  change  his  field  of  operations. 

And  then,  after  he  was  gone,  a  silence  fell  on  the  com 
pany.  Nan  appeared  to  be  in  a  dazed  condition,  while 
Miss  Fanny  sat  looking  out  of  the  window.  Margaret, 
very  much  subdued,  was  clinging  to  Nan,  and  Neigh 
bour  Tomlin  was  pacing  up  and  down  in  the  library  in 
a  glow  of  happiness.  All  his  early  dreams  had  come  back 
to  him,  and  they  were  true.  The  romance  of  his  youth 
had  been  changed  into  a  reality. 

Margaret  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  She  left 
Nan,  and  went  slowly  to  Miss  Fanny,  and  stood  by  her 
chair.  "  What  do  you  think  of  me  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  low 
.voice. 

For  answer,  Miss  Fanny  rose  and  placed  her  arms 
around  the  girl,  and  held  her  tightly  for  a  moment,  and 
then  kissed  her. 

"  But  I  do  think,  my  dear,"  she  said  with  an  effort  to 
laugh,  "  that  the  matter  might  have  been  arranged  with 
out  frightening  us  to  death." 

"  I  had  no  thought  of  frightening  you.  Oh,  I  am 
afraid  I  had  no  thought  for  anything  but  my  own 
troubles.  Did  you  know?  Did  you  guess?" 

"  I  knew  about  Pulaski,  but  I  had  to  go  away  from 
home  to  learn  the  news  about  you.  Madame  Awtry 

F  386  1 


BRIDALBIN    FINDS    HIS    DAUGHTER 

called  my  attention  to  it,  and  then  with  my  eyes  upon,  I 
could  see  a  great  many  things  that  were  not  visible  be 
fore." 

"  Why,  how  could  she  know?  "  cried  Margaret.  "  I 
have  talked  with  her  not  more  than  a  half  dozen  times." 

"  She  is  a  very  wise  woman,"  Miss  Fanny  remarked, 
by  way  of  explanation. 

"  Well,  when  I  get  in  love,  I'll  not  visit  Madame  Aw- 
try,"  said  Nan. 

"  My  dear,  you  have  been  there  once  too  often,"  Miss 
Fanny  declared. 

"Why,  what  has  she  been  telling  you?"  inquired 
Nan,  blushing  very  red. 

"  I'll  not  disclose  your  secrets,  Nan,"  answered  Miss 
Fanny. 

"  I  would  thank  you  kindly,  if  I  had  any,"  said  Nan. 

And  then,  suddenly,  while  Margaret  was  standing 
with  her  arms  around  Miss  Fanny,  she  began  to  blush 
and  show  signs  of  embarrassment. 

"  Nan,"  she  said,  "  will  you  take  a  boarder  for — for 
— for  I  don't  know  how  long?" 

"  Not  for  long,  Nan.  Say  a  couple  of  weeks."  It 
was  Neighbour  Tomlin  who  spoke,  as  he  came  out  of  the 
library. 

"  Oh,  for  longer  than  that,"  protested  Margaret. 

"  You  must  remember  that  I  am  getting  old,  child," 
he  said  very  solemnly. 

"  So  am  I,  sir,"  she  said  archly.  "  I  am  quite  as  old 
as  you  are,  I  think." 

"  This  is  the  first  quarrel,"  Nan  declared,  "  and  who 
[  387  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

knows  how  it  will  all  end?  You  are  to  come  and  stay 
as  long  as  you  please,  and  then  after  that,  you  are  to 
stay  as  long  as  I  please." 

"  I  declare,  Nan,  you  talk  like  an  old  woman !  "  ex 
claimed  Miss  Fanny;  whereupon  Nan  laughed  and  said 
she  had  to  be  serious  sometimes. 

And  so  it  was  arranged  that  Margaret  was  to  stay 
with  Nan  for  an  indefinite  period.  "  I  hope  you  will 
come  to  see  me  occasionally,  Mr.  Tomlin,  and  you  too, 
Aunt  Fanny,"  she  said  with  mock  formality.  "  We 
shall  have  days  for  receiving  company,  just  as  the  fine 
ladies  do  in  the  cities;  and  you'll  have  to  send  in  your 
cards." 

The  two  young  women  refused  to  go  in  the  carriage. 

"  It  is  so  small  and  stuffy,"  said  Margaret  to  Neigh 
bour  Tomlin,  "  and  to-day  I  want  to  be  in  the  fresh  air. 
If  you  please,  sir,  don't  look  at  me  like  that,  or  I  can 
never  go."  She  went  close  to  him.  "  Oh,  is  it  all  true? 
Is  it  really  and  truly  true,  or  is  it  a  dream?  " 

"  It  is  true,"  he  said,  kissing  her.  "  It  is  a  dream,  but 
it  is  my  dream  come  true." 

"  I  didn't  think,"  she  said,  as  she  went  along  with 
Nan,  "  that  the  world  was  as  beautiful  as  it  seems  to  be 
to-day." 

"  Mr.  Sanders  says,"  replied  Nan,  "  that  it  is  the 
most  comfortable  world  he  has  ever  found ;  but  somehow 
— well,  you  know  we  can't  all  be  happy  the  same  way  at 
the  same  time." 

"  Your  day  is  still  to  come,"  said  Margaret,  "  and 
when  it  does,  I  want  to  be  there." 

[   .388   1 


BRIDALBIN    FINDS    HIS    DAUGHTER 

"  You  say  that,"  remarked  Nan,  "  but  you  know  you 
would  have  felt  better  if  you  hadn't  had  so  much  com 
pany.  For  a  wonder  Tasma  Tid  wouldn't  go  in  the 
house  with  me.  She  said  something  was  happening  in 
there.  Now,  how  did  she  know?"  Tasma  Tid  had 
joined  them  as  they  came  through  the  gate,  and  now 
Nan  turned  to  her  with  the  question. 

"  Huh !  we  know  dem  trouble  w'en  we  see  um.  Dee 
ain't  no  trouble  now.  She  done  gone — dem  trouble. 
But  yan'  come  mo'."  She  pointed  to  Miss  Polly  Gai- 
ther,  who  came  toddling  along  with  her  work-bag  and 
her  turkey-tail  fan. 

"  Howdy,  girls  ?  I'm  truly  glad  to  see  you.  You 
are  looking  well  both  of  you,  and  health  is  a  great  bless 
ing.  I  have  just  been  to  Lucy  Lumsden's,  Nan,  and 
she  thinks  a  great  deal  of  you.  I  could  tell  you  things 
that  would  turn  your  head.  But  I'm  really  sorry  for 
Lucy ;  she's  almost  as  lonely  as  I  am.  They  say  Gabriel 
is  sure  to  be  dealt  with;  I'm  told  there  is  no  other  way 
out  of  it.  Have  you  two  heard  anything?  "  Margaret 
and  Nan  shook  their  heads,  but  gestures  of  that  kind 
were  not  at  all  satisfactory  to  Miss  Polly.  "  They  say 
that  little  Cephas  was  sent  down  to  prepare  Gabriel  for 
the  worst.  But  I  didn't  say  a  word  about  that  to  Lucy, 
and  if  you  two  girls  go  there,  you  must  be  very  careful 
not  to  drop  a  word  about  it.  Lucy  is  getting  old,  and 
she  can't  bear  up  under  trouble  as  she  used  to  could. 
She  has  aged  wonderfully  in  the  past  few  weeks.  Don't 
you  think  so,  Nan  ?  " 

She  held  up  her  ear-trumpet  as  she  spoke,  and  Nan 
I"  389  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

made  a  great  pretence  of  yelling  into  it,  though  not  a 
sound  issued  from  her  lips.  Miss  Polly  frowned. 
"  Don't  talk  so  loud,  my  dear ;  you  will  make  people 
think  I'm  a  great  deal  deafer  than  I  am.  But  you  al 
ways  would  yell  at  me,  though  I  have  asked  you  a  dozen 
times  to  speak  only  in  ordinary  tones.  Well,  I  don't 
agree  with  you  about  Lucy.  She  has  broken  terribly 
since  Gabriel  was  carried  off ;  she  is  not  the  same  woman, 
she  takes  no  interest  in  affairs  at  all.  I  told  her  a 
piece  of  astonishing  news,  and  she  paid  no  more  atten 
tion  to  it  than  if  she  hadn't  heard  it ;  and  she  didn't  use 
to  be  that  way.  Well,  we  all  have  our  troubles,  and  you 
two  will  have  yours  when  you  grow  a  little  older.  That 
is  one  thing  of  which  there  is  always  enough  left  to  go 
around.  The  supply  is  never  exhausted." 

After  delivering  this  truism,  Miss  Polly  waved  her 
turkey-tail  fan  as  majestically  as  she  knew  how,  and 
went  toddling  along  home.  Miss  Polly  was  a  kind- 
hearted  woman,  but  she  couldn't  resist  the  inclination  to 
gossip  and  tattle.  Her  tattle  did  no  harm,  for  her  weak 
ness  was  well  advertised  in  that  community ;  but,  unfor 
tunately,  her  deafness  had  made  her  both  suspicious  and 
irritable.  When  in  company,  for  instance,  she  insisted 
on  feeling  that  people  were  talking  about  her  when  the 
conversation  was  not  carried  on  loud  enough  for  her  to 
hear  the  sound  of  the  voices,  if  not  the  substance  of  what 
was  said,  and  she  had  a  way  of  turning  to  the  one  clos 
est  at  hand,  with  the  remark,  "  They  should  have  better 
manners  than  to  talk  of  the  afflictions  of  an  old  woman, 
for  it  is  not  at  all  certain  that  they  will  escape."  Nat- 

[   390  1 


BRIDALBIN    FINDS    HIS    DAUGHTER 

urally  this  would  call  out  a  protest  on  the  part  of  all 
present,  whereupon  Miss  Polly  would  shake  her  head, 
and  remark  that  she  was  not  as  deaf  as  many  people 
supposed ;  that,  in  fact,  there  were  days  when  she  could 
hear  almost  as  well  as  she  heard  before  the  affliction  over 
took  her. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Nan,  whose  curiosity  was  always 
ready  to  be  aroused,  "  what  piece  of  astonishing  news 
Miss  Polly  has  been  telling  Grandmother  Lumsden. 
Perhaps  she  has  told  her  of  the  events  of  the  morning 
at  Mr.  Tomlin's." 

"  That  is  absurd,  Nan,"  Margaret  declared.  "  Still, 
it  would  make  no  difference  to  me.  He  was  the  only  per 
son  that  I  ever  wanted  to  hide  my  feelings  from.  I 
never  so  much  as  dreamed  that  he  could  care  for  me — 
and,  oh,  Nan!  suppose  that  he  should  be  pretending 
simply  to  please  me !  " 

"  You  goose !  "  cried  Nan.  "  Whoever  heard  of  that 
man  pretending,  or  trying  to  deceive  any  one?  If  he 
was  a  young  man,  now,  it  would  be  different." 

"  Not  with  all  young  men,"  Margaret  asserted. 
"  There  is  Gabriel  Tolliver — I  don't  believe  he  would 
deceive  any  one." 

"  Oh,  Gabriel — but  why  do  you  mention  Gabriel?  " 

"  Because  his  eyes  are  so  beautiful  and  honest,"  an 
swered  Margaret. 

But  Nan  tossed  her  head ;  she  would  never  believe  any 
thing  good  about  Gabriel  unless  she  said  it  herself — or 
thought  it,  for  she  could  think  hundreds,  yes,  thousands, 
of  things  about  Gabriel  that  she  wouldn't  dare  to  breathe 

[  391  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

aloud,  even  though  there  was  no  living  soul  within  a 
hundred  miles.  And  that  fact  needn't  make  Gabriel 
feel  so  awfully  proud,  for  there  were  other  persons  and 
things  she  could  think  about. 

Ah,  well !  love  is  such  a  restless,  suspicious  thing,  such 
an  irritating,  foolish,  freakish,  solemn  affair,  that  it  is 
not  surprising  the  two  young  women  were  somewhat 
afraid  of  it  when  they  found  themselves  in  its  clutches. 


392  ] 


CHAPTER  THIRTY 


Miss  Polly  Has  Some  News 

A  HE  news  which  Miss  Polly  had  laid  as  a  social  offer 
ing  at  Mrs.  Lucy  Lumsden's  feet,  and  which  she  boasted 
was  very  astonishing,  had  the  appearance  of  absurdity 
on  the  face  of  it.  Miss  Polly,  with  her  work-bag  and 
her  turkey-tail  fan,  had  paid  a  very  early  visit  to  the 
Lumsden  Place.  She  went  in  very  quietly,  greeted  her 
old  friend  in  a  subdued  manner,  and  then  sat  staring  at 
her  with  an  expression  that  Mrs.  Lurnsden  failed  to  un 
derstand.  It  might  have  been  the  result  of  special  and 
unmitigated  woe,  or  of  physical  pain,  or  of  severe 
fatigue.  Whatever  the  cause,  it  was  unnatural,  and  so 
Gabriel's  grandmother  made  haste  to  inquire  about  it. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  is  the  matter,  Polly  ?  Are 
you  ill?" 

At  this  Miss  Polly  acted  as  if  she  had  been  aroused 
from  a  dream  or  a  revery.  Her  work-bag  slid  from  her 
lap,  and  her  turkey-tail  fan  would  have  fallen  had  it  not 
been  attached  to  her  wrist  by  a  piece  of  faded  ribbon. 
"  I  declare,  Lucy,  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  tell  you ; 
and  I  wouldn't  if  I  thought  you  would  repeat  it  to  a 
living  soul.  It  is  more  than  marvellous;  it  is,  indeed. 

[  393  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

Lucy  "  —  leaning  a  little  nearer,  and  lowering  her  voice, 
which  was  never  very  loud  —  "  I  honestly  believe  that 
Ritta  Claiborne  is  in  love  with  old  Silas  Tomlin  !  I  cer 
tainly  do." 

"  You  must  have  some  reason  for  believing  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Lumsden,  with  a  benevolent  smile,  the  cause  of 
which  the  ear-trumpet  could  not  interpret. 

"  Reasons  !  I  have  any  number,  Lucy.  I'm  certain 
you  won't  believe  me,  but  it  has  come  to  that  pass  that 
old  Silas  calls  on  her  every  night,  and  they  sit  in  the 
parlour  there  and  talk  by  the  hour,  sometimes  with  Eu 
genia,  and  sometimes  without  her.  It  would  be  no  ex 
aggeration  at  all  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  they  are  talk 
ing  together  in  that  parlour  five  nights  out  of  the  seven. 
Now,  what  do  they  mean  by  that?  " 

"  Why,  there's  nothing  in  that,  Polly.  I  have  heard 
that  they  are  old  acquaintances.  Surely  old  acquaint 
ances  can  talk  together,  and  be  interested  in  one  another, 
without  being  in  love.  Wh^,  very  frequently  of  late 
Meriwether  Clopton  comes  here.  I  hope  you  don't  think 
I'm  in  love  with  him." 

"  Certainly  not,  Lucy,  most  certainly  not.  But  do 
you  have  Meri  wether's  portrait  hanging  in  your  par 
lour?  And  do  you  go  and  sit  before  it,  and  study  it, 
and  sometimes  shake  your  finger  at  it  playfully  ?  I  tell 
you,  Lucy,  there  are  some  queer  people  in  this  world,  and 
Ritta  Claiborne  is  one  of  them." 

"  She  is  excellent  company,"  said  Mrs.  Lumsden. 

"  She  is,  she  is,"  Miss  Polly  assented.  "  She  is  full 
of  life  and  fun  ;  she  sees  the  ridiculous  side  of  everything  ; 


394   J 


MISS    POLLY    HAS    SOME    NEWS 

and  that  is  why  I  can't  understand  her  fondness  for  old 
Silas.  It  is  away  beyond  me.  Why,  Lucy,  she  treats 
that  portrait  as  if  it  were  alive.  What  she  says  to  it,  I 
can't  tell  you,  for  my  hearing  is  not  as  good  now  as  it 
was  before  my  ears  were  affected.  But  she  says  some 
thing,  for  I  can  see  her  lips  move,  and  I  can  see  her 
smile.  My  eyesight  is  as  good  now  as  ever  it  was.  I'm 
telling  you  what  I  saw,  not  what  I  heard.  The  way  she 
went  on  over  that  portrait  was  what  first  attracted  my 
attention;  but  for  that  I  would  never  have  had  a  sus 
picion.  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  particular.  If  it  is  true,  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  for  Silas.  He  is  not  as  mean  as  a  great 
many  people  think  he  is." 

"  He  may  not  be,  Lucy,"  responded  Miss  Polly,  "  but 
he  brings  a  bad  taste  in  my  mouth  every  time  I  see  him." 

"  Well,  directly  after  Sherman  passed  through,"  said 
Mrs.  Lumsden,  "  and  when  few  of  us  had  anything  left, 
Silas  came  to  me,  and  asked  if  I  needed  anything,  and 
he  was  ready  to  supply  me  with  sufficient  funds  for  my 
needs." 

"  Well,  he  didn't  come  to  me,"  Miss  Polly  declared 
with  emphasis,  "  and  if  anybody  in  this  world  had  needs, 
I  did.  You  remember  Robert  Gaither?  Well,  Silas 
loaned  him  some  money  during  the  war,  and  although 
Robert  was  in  a  bad  way,  old  Silas  collected  every  cent 
down  to  the  very  last,  and  Robert  had  to  go  to  Texas. 
Oh,  I  could  tell  you  of  numberless  instances  where  he 
took  advantage  of  those  who  had  borrowed  from  him." 

"  I  suppose  that  Mr.  Lumsden  had  been  kind  to  Silas 
[  395  ] 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

when  he  was  sowing  his  wild  oats;  indeed,  I  think  my 
husband  advanced  him  money  when  he  had  exhausted 
the  supply  allowed  him  by  the  executors  of  the  Tomlin 
estate." 

"  And  just  think  of  it,  Lucy — Ritta  Claiborne  sits 
there  and  plays  the  piano  for  old  Silas,  and  sometimes 
Eugenia  goes  in  and  sings,  and  she  has  a  beautiful  voice ; 
I'm  not  too  deaf  to  know  that." 

It  was  then  that  Mrs.  Lumsden  leaned  over  and  gave 
the  ear-trumpet  some  very  good  advice.  "  If  I  were  in 
your  place,  Polly,  I  wouldn't  tell  this  to  any  one  else. 
Mrs.  Claiborne  is  an  excellent  woman;  she  comes  of  a 
good  family,  and  she  is  cultured  and  refined.  No  doubt 
she  is  sensitive,  and  if  she  heard  that  you  were  spreading 
your  suspicions  abroad,  she  would  hardly  feel  like  stay 
ing  in  a  house  where "  Mrs.  Lumsden  paused.  She 

had  it  on  her  tongue's-end  to  say,  "  in  a  house  where  she 
is  spied  upon,"  but  she  had  no  desire  in  the  world  to 
offend  that  simple-minded  old  soul,  who,  behind  all  her 
peculiarities  and  afflictions,  had  a  very  tender  heart. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  Lucy,"  said  Miss  Polly, 
"  and  your  advice  is  good ;  but  I  can't  help  seeing  what 
goes  on  under  my  eyes,  and  I  thought  there  could  be  no 
harm  in  telling  you  about  it.  I  am  very  fond  of  Ritta 
Claiborne,  and  as  for  Eugenia,  why  she  is  simply  an 
gelic.  I  love  that  child  as  well  as  if  she  were  my  own. 
If  there's  a  flaw  in  her  character,  I  have  never  found  it. 
I'll  say  that  much." 

The  explanation  of  Miss  Polly's  suspicions  is  not  as 
simple  as  her  recital  of  them.  No  one  can  account  for 

[  396  1 


MISS    POLLY    HAS    SOME    NEWS 

some  of  the  impulses  of  the  human  heart,  or  the  vagaries 
of  the  human  mind.  It  is  easy  to  say  that  after  Silas 
Tomlin  had  his  last  interview  with  Mrs.  Claiborne,  he 
permitted  his  mind  to  dwell  on  her  personality  and  sur 
roundings,  and  so  fell  gradually  under  a  spell.  Such 
an  explanation  is  not  only  easy  to  imagine,  but  it  is 
plausible;  nevertheless,  it  would  not  be  true.  There  is 
a  sort  of  tradition  among  the  brethren  who  deal  with 
character  in  fiction  that  it  must  be  consistent  with  itself. 
This  may  be  necessary  in  books,  for  it  sweeps  away  at 
one  stroke  ten  thousand  mysteries  and  problems  that  play 
around  the  actions  of  every  individual,  no  matter  how 
high,  no  matter  how  humble.  How  often  do  we  hear  it 
remarked  in  real  life  that  the  actions  of  such  and  such 
an  individual  are  a  source  of  surprise  and  regret  to  his 
friends;  and  how  often  in  our  own  experience  have  we 
been  shocked  by  the  unexpected  as  it  crops  out  in  the 
actions  of  our  friends  and  acquaintances ! 

For  this  and  other  reasons  this  chronicler  does  not  pro 
pose  to  explain  Silas's  motives  and  movements  and  try  to 
show  that  they  are  all  consistent  with  his  character,  and 
that,  therefore,  they  were  all  to  be  predicated  from  the 
beginning.  What  is  certainly  true  is  that  Silas  was  one 
day  stopped  in  the  street  by  Eugenia,  who  inquired  about 
Paul.  He  looked  at  the  girl  very  gloomily  at  first,  but 
when  he  began  to  talk  about  the  troubles  of  his  son,  he 
thawed  out  considerably.  In  this  case  Eugenia's  sym 
pathies  abounded,  in  fact  were  unlimited,  and  she  lis 
tened  with  dewy  eyes  to  everything  Silas  would  tell  her 
about  Paul. 

[  397   ] 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

"  You  mustn't  think  too  much  about  Paul,"  remarked 
Silas  grimly,  as  they  were  about  to  part. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Eugenia,  with  a  smile,  "  I'll 
think  just  enough  and  no  more.  But  it  was  my  mother 
that  told  me  to  ask  about  him  if  I  saw  you.  She  is  very 
fond  of  him.  You  never  come  to  see  us  now,"  the  sly 
creature  suggested. 

Silas  stared  at  her  before  replying,  and  tried  to  find 
the  gleam  of  mockery  in  her  eyes,  or  in  her  smile.  He 
failed,  and  his  glances  became  shifty  again.  "  Why,  I 
reckon  she'd  kick  me  down  the  steps  if  I  called  without 
having  some  business  with  her.  If  you  were  to  ask  her 
who  her  worst  enemy  is,  she'd  tell  you  that  I  am  the 
man." 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  Eugenia  archly,  "  I  have  been 
knowing  mother  a  good  many  years,  but  I've  never  seen 
her  put  any  one  out  of  the  house  yet.  We  wer.e  talking 
about  you  to-day,  and  she  said  you  must  be  very  lonely, 
now  that  Paul  is  away,  and  I  know  she  sympathises  with 
those  who  are  lonely ;  I've  hearcl  her  say  so  many  a  time." 

"  Yes ;  that  may  be  true,"  remarked  Silas,  "  but  she 
has  special  reasons  for  not  sympathising  with  me.  She 
knows  me  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  misjudge  us  both,"  said  Eugenia  de 
murely.  "  If  you  knew  us  better,  you'd  like  us  better. 
I'm  sure  of  that." 

"  Humph !  "  grunted  Silas.  Then  looking  hard  at 
the  girl,  he  bluntly  asked,  "  Is  there  anything  between 
you  and  Paul?  " 

f   398   1 


MISS    POLLY    HAS    SOME    NEWS 

"  A  good  many  miles,  sir,  just  now,"  she  answered, 
making  one  of  those  retorts  that  Paul  thought  so  fine. 

"  H-m-m ;  yes,  you  are  right,  a  good  many  miles. 
Well,  there  can't  be  too  many." 

"  I  think  you  are  cruel,  sir.  Is  Paul  not  to  come 
home  any  more?  Paul  is  a  very  good  friend  of  mine, 
and  I  could  wish  him  well  wherever  he  might  be ;  but  how 
would  you  feel,  sir,  if  he  were  never  to  return  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  must  go,"  said  Silas  somewhat  bluntly. 
When  Beauty  has  a  glib  tongue,  abler  men  than  Silas 
find  themselves  without  weapons  to  cope  with  it. 

"  Shall  I  tell  mother  that  you  have  given  your  promise 
to  call  soon  ?  "  Eugenia  asked. 

"  Now,  I  hope  you  are  not  making  fun  of  me,"  cried 
Silas  with  some  irritation. 

"  How  could  that  be,  sir?  Don't  you  think  it  would 
be  extremely  pert  in  a  young  girl  to  make  fun  of  a  gen 
tleman  old  enough  to  be  her  father?  " 

Silas  winced  at  the  comparison.  "  Well,  I  have  seen 
some  very  pert  ones,"  he  insisted,  and  with  that  he  bade 
her  good-day  with  a  very  ill  grace,  and  went  on  about 
his  business,  of  which  he  had  a  good  deal  of  one  kind 
and  another. 

"  Mother,"  said  Eugenia,  after  she  had  given  an  ac 
count  of  her  encounter  with  Silas,  "  I  believe  the  man 
has  a  good  heart  and  is  ashamed  of  it." 

"  Why,  I  think  the  same  may  be  said  of  most  of  the 
grand  rascals  that  we  read  about  in  history;  and  the 
pity  of  it  is  that  they  would  have  all  been  good  men  if 

[  399  1 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

they  had  had  the  right  kind  of  women  to  deal  with  them 
and  direct  their  careers." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  mother?  "  the  daughter  in 
quired. 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  the  lady. 

Then  after  all  there  might  be  some  hope  for  old  Silas 
Tomlin.  And  his  instinct  may  have  given  him  an  ink 
ling  of  the  remedy  for  his  particular  form  of  the  whim 
sies,  for  it  was  not  many  days  before  he  came  knocking 
at  the  lady's  door,  where  he  was  very  graciously  re 
ceived,  and  most  delightfully  entertained.  Both  mother 
and  daughter  did  their  utmost  to  make  the  hours  pass 
pleasantly,  and  they  succeeded  to  some  extent.  For 
awhile  Silas  was  suspicious,  then  he  would  resign  himself 
to  the  temptations  of  good  music  and  bright  conversa 
tion.  Presently  he  would  remember  his  suspicions,  and 
straighten  himself  up  in  his  chair,  and  assume  an  atti 
tude  of  defiance ;  and  so  the  first  evening  passed.  When 
Silas  found  himself  in  the  street  on  his  way  home,  he 
stopped  still  and  reflected. 

"  Now,  what  in  the  ding-nation  is  that  woman  up  to? 
What  is  she  trying  to  do,  I  wonder?  Why,  she's  as  dif 
ferent  from  what  she  was  when  I  first  knew  her  as  a  but 
terfly  is  from  a  caterpillar.  Why,  there  ain't  a  pearter 
woman  on  the  continent.  No  wonder  Paul  lost  his  head 
in  that  house !  She's  up  to  something,  and  I'll  find  out 
what  it  is." 

Silas  was  always  suspicious,  but  on  this  occasion  he 
bethought  himself  of  the  fact  that  he  had  not  been 
dragged  into  the  house ;  he  had  been  under  no  compul- 

I"  400  1 


MISS    POLLY    HAS    SOME    NEWS 

sion  to  knock  at  the  door;  indeed,  he  had  taken  advan 
tage  of  the  slightest  hint  on  the  part  of  the  daughter — 
a  hint  that  may  have  been  a  mere  form  of  politeness. 
He  remembered,  too,  that  he  had  frequently  gone  by  the 
house  at  night,  and  had  heard  the  piano  going,  accom 
panied  by  the  singing  of  one  or  the  other  of  the  ladies. 
His  reflections  would  have  made  him  ashamed  of  him 
self,  but  he  had  never  cultivated  such  feelings.  He  left 
that  sort  of  thing  to  the  women  and  children. 

In  no  long  time  he  repeated  his  visit,  and  met  with 
the  same  pleasurable  experience.  On  this  occasion,  Eu 
genia  remained  in  the  parlour  only  a  short  time.  For  a 
diversion,  the  mother  played  a  few  of  the  old-time  tunes 
on  the  piano,  and  sang  some  of  the  songs  that  Silas  had 
loved  in  his  youth.  This  done,  she  wheeled  around  on 
the  stool,  and  began  to  talk  about  Paul. 

"  If  I  had  a  son  like  that/'  she  said,  "  I  should  be 
immensely  proud  of  him." 

"  You  have  a  fine  daughter,"  Silas  suggested,  by  way 
of  consolation. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Yes,  but  you  know  we 
always  want  that  which  we  have  not.  Yet  they  say  that 
envy  is  among  the  mortal  sins." 

"  Well,  a  sin's  a  sin,  I  reckon,"  remarked  Silas. 

"  Oh,  no !  there  are  degrees  in  sin.  I  used  to  know 
a  preacher  who  could  run  the  scale  of  evil-doing  and 
thinking,  just  as  I  can  trip  along  the  notes  on  the 
piano." 

"  They  once  tried  to  make  a  preacher  out  of  me,"  re 
marked  Silas.  "  but  when  I  slipped  in  the  church  one 

[  401  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

day  and  went  up  into  the  pulpit,  I  found  it  was  a  great 
deal  too  big  for  me." 

'  They  make  them  larger  now,"  said  the  lady,  "  so 
that  they  will  hold  the  exhorter  and  the  horrible  exam 
ple  at  the  same  time." 

"  Did  Paul  ever  see  my  picture  there?  "  asked  Silas, 
changing  the  conversation  into  a  more  congenial  channel. 
"  Why,  I  think  so,"  replied  the  lady  placidly.  "  I 
think  he  asked  about  it,  and  I  told  him  that  we  had 
known  each  other  long  ago,  which  was  not  at  all  the 
truth." 

"  What  did  Paul  say  to  that?  "  asked  Silas  eagerly. 
"  He  said  that  while  some  people  might  think  you 
were  queer,  you  had  been  a  good  dad  to  him.     I  think 
he  said  dad,  but  I'll  not  be  sure." 

'*  Yes,  yes,  he  said   it,"   cried   Silas,  all   in   a   glow. 
'  That's  Paul  all  over ;  but  what  will  the  poor  boy  think 
when  he  finds  out  what  you  know?  " 

"Why,  he'll  enjoy  the  situation,"  said  the  lady, 
laughing.  "  As  you  Georgians  say,  he'll  be  tickled  to 
death." 

Silas  regarded  her  with  astonishment,  his  hands 
clenched  and  his  thin  lips  pressed  together.  "  Do  you 
think,  Madam,  that  it  is  a  matter  for  a  joke?  You 
women — 

"  Can't  I  have  my  own  views?  You  have  yours,  and 
I  make  no  objection." 

"  But  think  of  what  a  serious  matter  it  is  to  me.  Do 
you  realise  that  there  is  nothing  but  a  whim  betwixt  me 
and  disgrace — betwixt  Paul  and  disgrace  ?  " 

[  402  ] 


MISS    POLLY    HAS    SOME    NEWS 

"A  whim?  Why,  you  are  another  Daniel  O'Con- 
nell!  Call  me  a  hyperbole,  a  rectangled  triangle,  a 
parenthesis,  or  a  hyphen."  She  was  laughing,  and  yet 
it  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  she  had  no  relish  for  the 
term  which  Silas  had  unintentionally  applied  to  her. 

"  I  meant  to  say  that  if  the  notion  seized  you,  you 
would  fetch  us  down  as  a  hunter  bags  a  brace  of 
doves." 

"  Doves !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Claiborne,  with  a  comical 
lift  of  the  eyebrows. 

"  Buzzards,  then !  "  said  Silas  with  some  heat. 

"  Oh,  you  overdo  everything,"  laughed  the  lady. 

"  Well,  there's  nobody  hurt  but  me,"  was  Silas's  gruff 
reply. 

"  And  Paul,"  suggested  the  lady,  with  a  peculiar 
smile. 

"  Well,  when  I  say  Paul,  I  mean  myself.  I've  been 
called  worse  names  than  buzzard  by  people  who  were 
trying  to  walk  off  with  my  money.  Oh,  they  didn't  call 
me  that  to  my  face,"  said  Silas,  noticing  a  queer  expres 
sion  in  the  lady's  eyes.  "  And  people  who  should  have 
known  better  have  hated  me  because  I  didn't  fling  my 
money  away  after  I  had  saved  it." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  worry  about  that,"  Mrs.  Clai 
borne  remarked.  "  You  will  have  plenty  of  company 
in  the  money-grabbing  business  before  long.  I  can  see 
signs  of  it  now,  and  every  time  I  think  of  it  I  feel  sorry 
for  our  young  men,  yes,  and  our  young  women,  and  the 
long  generations  that  are  to  come  after  them.  In  the 
course  of  a  very  few  years  you  will  find  your  business 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

to  be  more  respectable  than  any  of  the  professions.  You 
remember  how,  before  the  war,  we  used  to  sneer  at  the 
Yankees  for  their  money-making  proclivities?  Well,  it 
won't  be  very  long  before  we'll  beat  them  at  their  own 
game ;  and  then  our  politicians  will  thrive,  for  each  and 
all  of  them  will  have  their  principles  dictated  by  Shylock 
and  his  partners." 

"  Why,  you  talk  as  if  you  were  a  politician  yourself. 
But  why  are  you  sorry  for  our  young  women  ?  " 

"  That  was  a  hasty  remark.  I  am  sorry  for  those 
who  will  grow  weary  and  fall  by  the  wayside.  The  ma 
jority  of  them,  and  the  best  of  them,  will  make  them 
selves  useful  in  thousands  of  ways,  and  new  industries 
will  spring  up  for  their  benefit.  They  will  become 
workers,  and,  being  workers,  they  will  be  independent  of 
the  men,  and  finally  begin  to  look  down  on  them  as  they 
should." 

"  Well !  "  exclaimed  Silas,  and  then  he  sat  and  gazed 
at  the  lady  for  the  first  time  with  admiration.  "  Where'd 
you  learn  all  that?  "  he  asked  after  awhile. 

"  Oh,  I  read  the  newspapers,  and  such  books  as  I  can 
lay  my  hands  on,  and  I  remember  what  I  read.  Didn't 
you  notice  that  I  recited  my  piece  much  as  a  school-boy 
would?" 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  replied  Silas.  "  I  do  a  good  deal  of 
reading  myself,  but  all  those  ideas  are  new  to  me." 

"  Well,  they'll  be  familiar  to  you  just  as  soon  as  our 
people  can  look  around  and  get  their  bearings.  As  for 
me,  I  propose  to  become  an  advanced  woman,  and  go  on 
the  stage ;  there's  nothing  like  being  the  first  in  the  field. 

[  404  ] 


MISS    POLLY    HAS    SOME    NEWS 

I  always  told  my  husband  that  if  he  died  and  left  me 
without  money,  I  proposed  to  earn  my  own  living." 

"  You  told  your  husband  that?  When  did  you  tell 
him  ?  "  inquired  Silas  with  some  eagerness. 

"  Oh,  long  before  he  died,"  replied  the  lady. 

Silas  sat  like  one  stunned.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  your  husband  is  dead  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  Claiborne.  "  What 
possible  reason  could  I  have  for  denying  or  concealing 
the  fact?" 

Silas  straightened  himself  in  his  chair,  and  frowned. 
"  Then  why  did  you  come  here  and  pretend — pretend — 
ain't  you  Ritta  Rozelle,  that  used  to  be?  " 

"  There  were  two  of  them,"  the  lady  replied.  "  They 
were  twins.  One  was  named  Clarita,  and  the  other  Flo- 
retta,  but  both  were  called  Ritta  by  those  who  could  not 
distinguish  them  apart.  I  had  reason  to  believe  that 
you  hadn't  treated  my  sister  as  you  should  have  done, 
and  I  came  here  to  see  if  you  would  take  the  bait.  You 
snapped  it  up  before  the  line  touched  the  water.  It  was 
not  even  necessary  for  me  to  try  to  deceive  you.  You 
simply  shut  your  eyes  and  declared  that  I  was  your  wife 
and  that  I  had  come." 

"  You  are  the  sister  who  was  going  to  school  in — 
wasn't  it  Boston?  " 

"  Yes ;  that  is  why  I  am  broad-minded  and  free  from 
guile,"  remarked  the  lady  with  a  laugh  so  merry  that  it 
irritated  Silas. 

"  Then  you  have  never  been  married  to  me,"  Silas 
suggested,  still  frowning. 

f  405  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  I  thank  you  kindly,  sir,  I  never  have  been." 

"  Well,  you  never  denied  it,"  he  said. 

"  You  never  gave  me  an  opportunity,"  she  retorted. 

"  You  simply  sat  back,  and  watched  me  make  a  fool 
of  myself." 

'  You  express  it  very  well." 

Silas  squirmed  on  his  chair.  "  Why,  you  knew  me 
the  minute  you  saw  me ! "  he  cried. 

'  Therefore  you  are  still  sure  I  am  the  woman  you 
married  in  Louisiana.  Well,  the  man  who  was  driving 
the  hack  the  day  of  my  arrival,  saw  you  in  the  fields, 
and  he  made  a  remark  I  have  never  forgotten.  He  said 
• — she  mimicked  Mr.  Goodlett  as  well  as  she  could — • 
'  Well,  dang  my  hide !  ef  thar  ain't  old  Silas  Tomlin 
out  huntin' !  Ef  he  shoots  an'  misses  he'll  pull  all  his 
ha'r  out.'  <  Why?  '  I  asked.  «  Bekaze  he  can't  afford 
to  waste  a  load  of  powder  an'  shot.'  " 

Silas  tried  to  smile.  He  knew  that  the  point  of  Mr. 
Goodlctt's  joke  was  lost  on  the  lady. 

Silas  tried  to  smile,  but  the  effort  was  too  much  for 
him,  and  he  frowned  instead.  "  You  did  all  you  could 
to  humour  my  mistake,"  he  declared. 

"  I  certainly  did,"  said  Mrs.  Claiborne,  very  seriously. 
"  I  had  good  reason  to  believe  that  your  treatment  of 
my  sister  was  not  what  it  should  have  been." 

"  Good  Lord !  she  wouldn't  let  me  treat  her  well. 
Why,  we  hadn't  been  married  three  months  before  she 
took  a  dislike  to  me,  and  she  never  got  over  it.  The 
truth  is,  she  couldn't  bear  the  sight  of  me.  I  did  what 
any  other  young  man  would  have  done.  I  packed  up 

[406   ] 


MISS    POLLY    HAS    SOME    NEWS 

my  things  and  came  back  home.  I  told  Dorrington 
about  it  when  I  came  back,  and  he  said  the  trouble  was 
a  form  of  hysterics  that  finally  develops  into  insanity." 

"  Yes,  that  was  what  happened  to  my  poor  sister," 
said  Mrs.  Claiborne,  "  and  I  never  knew  the  facts  until 
a  few  months  ago.  Our  aunt,  you  know,  always  con 
tended  that  you  were  the  cause  of  it  all.  But  Judge 
Vardeman,  quite  by  accident,  met  the  physician  who  had 
charge  of  the  case,  and  I  have  a  letter  from  him  which 
clearly  explains  the  whole  matter." 

Silas  Tomlin  sat  silent  for  a  long  time,  his  gaze  fixed 
on  the  floor.  "  Well,  well !  here  I  have  been  going  on 
for  years  under  the  impression  that  I  was  partly  re 
sponsible  for  that  poor  girl's  troubles;  and  it  has  been 
a  nightmare  riding  me  every  minute  that  I  had  time  to 
think."  He  stood  up,  stretched  his  arms  above  his  head, 
and  drew  a  long  breath.  "  I  thank  you  for  laying  my 
ghost,  and  I'll  bid  you  good-night." 


407  ] 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-ONE 


Mr.  Sanders  Receives  a  Message 

JL  HE  demeanour  of  Mr.  Sanders  about  this  time  was  a 
seven  days'  wonder  in  Shady  Dale.  As  Mrs.  Absalom 
declared,  he  had  tucked  his  good-humour  under  the  bed, 
and  was  now  going  about  in  a  state  of  gloom.  This  at 
least  was  the  general  impression;  but  Mr.  Sanders  was 
not  gloomy.  He  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  impatience, 
and  was  to  be  seen  constantly  walking  the  streets,  or  oc 
cupying  his  favourite  seat  on  the  court-house  steps,  the 
seat  that  had  always  attracted  him  when  he  was  com 
muning  with  John  Barleycorn.  But  he  and  John  Bar 
leycorn  were  strangers  now;  they  were  not  on  speaking 
terms.  He  avoided  the  companionship  of  those  who 
were  in  the  habit  of  seeking  him  out  to  enjoy  his  drol 
leries;  and  various  rumours  flew  about  as  to  the  cause 
of  his  apparent  troubles.  He  was  on  the  point  of  join 
ing  the  church,  having  had  enough  of  the  world's  sinful- 
ness;  he  had  lost  the  money  he  made  by  selling  cotton 
directly  after  the  war;  he  had  been  jilted  by  some  buxom 
country  girl.  In  short,  when  a  man  is  as  prominent  in 
a  community  as  Mr.  Sanders  was  in  Shady  Dale,  he  must 
pay  such  penalty  as  gossip  levies  when  his  conduct  be 
comes  puzzling  or  problematical. 

[   408    I 


SANDERS    RECEIVES    A    MESSAGE 

The  tittle-tattle  of  the  town  ran  in  a  different  direc 
tion  when  some  one  discovered  that  the  Racking  Roan 
was  tied  every  day  to  the  rack  behind  the  court-house. 
Then  the  gossips  were  certain  that  the  Yankees  were 
after  Mr.  Sanders,  and  his  horse  was  placed  close  at  hand 
in  order  to  give  him  an  opportunity  to  escape.  Mr. 
Sanders  apparently  confirmed  this  rumour  when  he  told 
Cephas  to  take  the  horse  to  Clopton's,  should  he  find  the 
animal  standing  at  the  rack  after  sundown. 

As  Mr.  Sanders  walked  about,  or  sat  on  the  court 
house  steps,  he  wondered  if  he  had  made  all  the  arrange 
ments  necessary  to  the  scheme  he  had  in  view.  Hun 
dreds  and  hundreds  of  times  he  went  over  the  ground 
in  his  mind,  and  reviewed  every  step  he  had  taken,  trying 
to  discover  if  anything  had  been  omitted,  or  if  there 
were  any  flaw  in  the  plan  he  proposed  to  follow.  He 
had  made  all  his  arrangements  beforehand.  He  had 
made  a  visit  to  Malvern,  and  remained  there  several  days. 
He  had  met  the  Mayor  of  the  city,  the  Chief  of  Police, 
and  the  latter  had  casually  introduced  him  to  the  Chief 
of  the  Fire  Department. 

Mr.  Sanders  accounted  himself  very  fortunate  in 
making  the  acquaintance  of  the  Fire  Chief,  who  was 
what  might  be  termed  one  of  the  unreconstructed.  He 
was  something  more  than  that,  he  was  an  irreconcilable, 
who  would  have  been  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  take  up 
arms  again.  This  official  took  an  eager  interest  in  the 
scheme  which  Mr.  Sanders  had  in  view;  in  fact,  as  he 
said  himself,  it  was  a  personal  interest.  He  invited  Mr. 
Sanders  to  the  head-quarters  of  the  Fire  Department. 

[  409  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  I'll  tell  you  why  I  want  you  to  come,"  he  said. 
"  There's  a  man  in  my  office,  or  he  will  be  there  when 
we  arrive,  who  is  likely  to  take  as  much  interest  in  this 
thing  as  I  do — he  couldn't  take  more — and  I  want  him 
to  hear  your  plan.  Have  you  ever  heard  of  Captain 
Buck  Sanford?" 

Mr.  Sanders  paused  in  the  street,  and  stared  at  the 
Fire  Chief.  "Heard  of  him?  Well,  I  should  say! 
He's  the  feller  that  fights  a  duel  before  breakfast  to  git 
up  an  appetite.  Well,  well !  How  many  men  has  Buck 
Sanford  winged  ?  " 

"  Oh,  quite  a  number,  but  not  as  many  as  he  gets 
credit  for.  He  comes  in  my  private  office  every  morn 
ing,  and  he's  a  great  help  to  me.  He  was  rather  down 
at  the  heels  right  after  the  war,  and  then  I  happened 
to  find  out  that  he  had  a  great  talent  in  getting  the  truth 
out  of  criminals.  We  sometimes  arrest  a  man  against 
whom  there  is  no  direct  evidence  of  guilt,  and  if  we 
didn't  have  some  one  skilful  enough  to  make  him  own 
up,  we  could  do  nothing.  B'uck  always  knows  whether 
a  fellow  is  guilty  or  not,  and  we  turn  over  the  suspects 
to  him,  and  whatever  he  says  goes.  He  sits  in  my  office 
like  a  piece  of  furniture,  and  you'd  think  he  was  a  wood 
en  man.  Now  you  go  down  with  me,  and  go  over  your 
scheme  so  that  Buck  can  hear  you,  and  whatever  he  says 
do,  will  be  the  thing  to  do." 

When  Mr.  Sanders  and  the  Chief  arrived  at  the  head 
quarters  of  the  department,  and  entered  the  private  of 
fice,  they  found  a  pale  and  somewhat  emaciated  young 
man  sitting  in  a  chair,  which  was  leaned  against  the  wall 


SANDERS    RECEIVES    A    MESSAGE 

at  a  somewhat  dangerous  angle.  He  was  apparently 
asleep ;  his  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  held  between  his  teeth 
a  short  but  handsome  pipe.  He  made  no  movement 
whatever  when  the  two  entered  the  room.  His  hat  was 
on  the  floor  at  the  side  of  his  chair,  and  had  evidently 
fallen  from  his  head.  If  Mr.  Sanders  had  been  called 
on  to  describe  the  young  man,  he  would  have  said  that 
he  was  a  weasly  looking  creature,  half  gristle  and  half 
ghost.  His  hands  were  small  and  thin,  and  the  skin  of 
his  face  had  the  appearance  of  parchment. 

At  the  request  of  the  Chief,  Mr.  Sanders  went  over 
the  details  of  his  plan  from  beginning  to  end,  and  at 
the  close  the  young  man,  who  had  apparently  been 
asleep,  remarked  in  a  thin,  smooth  voice,  "  Won't  it  be 
a  fine  day  for  a  parade !  " 

His  eyes  remained  closed;  he  had  not  even  taken  the 
pipe  out  of  his  mouth.  There  was  a  silence  of  many 
long  seconds.  But  the  weakly  looking  man  made  no 
movement,  nor  did  he  add  anything  to  his  remark.  Evi 
dently,  he  had  no  more  to  say. 

"  Buck  is  right,"  said  the  Chief. 

"  What  does  he  mean?  "  Mr.  Sanders  inquired. 

"  Why,  he  means  that  it  will  be  a  fine  day  for  a  gen 
eral  turn-out  of  the  department,"  replied  the  Chief. 

Mr.  Sanders  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  made  one 
of  his  characteristic  comments.  "  Be  jigged  ef  he  ain't 
saved  my  life !  " 

"  Captain  Sanford,  this  is  Mr.  Sanders,  of  Shady 
Dale,"  said  the  Chief,  by  way  of  introducing  the  two 
men.  Both  rose,  and  Mr.  Sanders  found  himself  look- 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

ing  into  the  eyes  of  one  of  the  most  interesting  charac 
ters  that  Georgia  ever  produced.  Captain  Buck  San- 
ford  was  one  of  the  last  of  the  knights-errant,  the  self- 
constituted  champion  of  all  women,  old  or  young,  good 
or  bad.  He  said  of  himself,  with  some  drollery,  that  he 
was  one  of  the  scavengers  of  society,  and  he  declared 
that  the  job  was  important  enough  to  command  a  good 
salary. 

No  man  in  his  hearing  ever  used  the  name  of  a  woman 
too  freely  without  answering  for  it ;  and  it  made  no  dif 
ference  whether  the  woman  was  rich  or  poor,  good  or 
bad.  Otherwise  he  was  the  friendliest  and  simplest  of 
men,  as  modest  as  a  woman,  and  entirely  unobtrusive. 
His  duel  with  Colonel  Conrad  Asbury,  one  of  the  most 
sensational  events  in  the  annals  of  duelling,  owing  to  the 
fact  that  the  weapons  were  shot-guns  at  ten  paces,  was 
the  result  of  a  remark  the  Colonel  had  made  about  a  lady 
whom  Sanford  had  never  seen.  But  so  far  as  the  gen 
eral  public  knew,  it  grew  out  of  the  fact  that  the  Colonel 
had  spilled  some  water  on  Sanford's  pantaloons. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  "  I've  heard  tell  of 
you  many  a  time,  an'  I'm  right  down  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  You  haven't  heard  much  good  of  me,  I  reckon," 
Captain  Sanford  remarked. 

"  Yes ;  not  so  very  long  ago  I  heard  a  fine  old  lady 
say  that  if  they  was  more  Buck  Sanfords,  the  wimmen 
would  be  better  off." 

A  faint  colour  came  into  the  face  of  the  duellist.  "  Is 
that  so?  "  he  asked  with  some  eagerness. 

F  412  1 


SANDERS    RECEIVES    A    MESSAGE 

"  It's  jest  like  I  tell  you,  an'  the  lady  was  Lucy  Lums- 
den,  the  grandmother  of  this  chap  that  we're  tryin'  to 
git  out'n  trouble." 

"  I  wonder  if  Tomlin  Perdue  wouldn't  let  me  into  the 
row?"  inquired  Captain  Sanford.  "You  see,  it's  this 
way:  If  the  boy  can't  break  away,  it  would  be  well  for 
a  serious  accident  to  happen,  and  in  that  case,  you'll 
need  a  man  that's  perfectly  willing  to  bear  the  brunt  of 
such  an  accident." 

"  We'll  see  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Sanders. 

"  Suppose  it's  a  rainy  day,  Buck;  what  then?  "  asked 
the  Chief. 

"  And  you  a  grown  man !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Sanford, 
sarcastically.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  false  alarm? 
Or  were  you  at  a  Sunday-school  picnic  when  it  was  rung 
in?  Oh,  I'm  going  to  get  a  blacksmith  and  have  your 
head  worked  on,"  and  with  that,  Captain  Buck  Sanford 
turned  on  his  heel  and  went  out. 

"  I  know  Buck  was  pleased  with  your  plan,"  the  Chief 
declared.  "  He  nodded  at  me  a  time  or  two  when  you 
wasn't  looking.  If  you  can  work  him  into  the  row,  it 
will  tickle  him  mightily.  He  ain't  flighty ;  he  never  gets 
mad;  and  he  always  knows  just  what  to  do,  and  when 
to  shoot." 

Thus,  long  before  he  became  impatient  enough  to  walk 
the  streets,  or  seek  consolation  on  the  court-house  steps, 
which  he  called  his  liquor-post,  Mr.  Sanders  had  made 
all  the  arrangements  necessary  to  the  success  of  his 
scheme.  He  had  sent  a  suit  of  clothes  to  a  friend  in 
Malvern,  he  had  shipped  three  bales  of  cotton  to  the  firm 


GABRIEL     TOLLIVER 

of  Vardeman  &  Stark,  who  had  been  informed  of  the  use 
to  which  Mr.  Sanders  desired  to  put  it ;  he  had  hired  an 
ox-cart,  and  made  a  covered  waggon  of  it ;  and  the  yoke 
of  oxen  he  proposed  to  use  had  been  driven  through  the 
country  and  were  now  at  Malvern. 

In  short,  no  matter  how  deeply  Mr.  Sanders  might 
ponder  over  the  matter,  there  was  nothing  he  could  think 
of  to  add  to  the  details  of  the  arrangement  that  he  had 
already  made. 

One  morning,  while  Nan,  who  was  on  her  way  to  bor 
row  a  book  from  Eugenia  Claiborne,  was  leaning  on  the 
court-house  fence  talking  to  Mr.  Sanders,  Tasma  Tid 
cried  out,  "  Yonner  dee  come !  yonner  dee  come !  "  The 
African,  who  had  heard  the  rumour  that  the  Yankees 
were  after  Mr.  Sanders,  concluded  that  this  was  the  ad 
vance  guard,  and  she  therefore  sounded  the  alarm.  But 
only  a  solitary  rider  was  in  sight,  and  he  was  coming  as 
fast  as  a  tired  horse  could  fetch  him.  By  the  time  this 
rider  had  reached  the  public  square,  Mr.  Sanders  had 
mounted  the  Racking  Roan,'  and  was  awaiting  him. 
The  rider  was  no  other  than  Colonel  Blascngame,  who 
had  insisted  on  bringing  the  message  himself. 

He  was  the  bearer  of  a  telegram  addressed  to  Major 
Perdue.  "  Consignment  will  be  shipped  to-morrow 
night.  Reach  Malvern  next  morning.  Invoice  by 
mail."  This  was  signed  by  the  firm  of  factors  with 
whom  Meriwether  Clopton  had  had  dealings  for  many 
years.  It  was  the  form  of  announcement  that  had  been 
agreed  on,  and  to  Mr.  Sanders  the  message  read,  "  The 
prisoners  will  go  to  Atlanta  to-morrow  night,  and  they 

[   414    ] 


SANDERS    RECEIVES    A    MESSAGE 

will  reach  Malvcrn  the  next  morning.     This  informa 
tion  can  be  relied  on." 

"  It's  a  joy  to  see  you,  Colonel,"  cried  Mr.  Sanders. 
"  One  more  day  of  waitin'  would  'a'  pulled  the  rivets  out. 
You  know  Miss  Nan  Dorrington,  don't  you,  Colonel 
Blasengame?  I  lay  you  used  to  dandle  her  on  your 
knee  when  she  was  a  baby." 

The  Colonel  bowed  lower  to  Nan  than  if  she  had  been 
a  queen.  "  You  are  not  to  go  to  the  tavern,"  remarked 
Mr.  Sanders.  "  Meriwether  Clopton  wants  the  messen 
ger  to  go  straight  to  his  house,  an'  he'll  be  all  the  glad 
der  bekaze  it's  you.  Gus  Tidwell  will  drive  you  home 
in  his  buggy  in  the  cool  of  the  cvenin',  an'  you  can  leave 
your  boss  at  Clopton's  for  a  day  or  two.  Ef  you  see 
Tidwell,  Nan,  please  tell  him  that  the  Colonel  is  at  Clop- 
ton's.  I  reckon  you'll  be  willin'  to  buss  me,  honey,  the 
next  time  you  see  me." 

"  If  you  have  earned  it,  Mr.  Sanders,"  said  Nan,  try 
ing  to  smile. 

Thereupon,  Mr.  Sanders  waved  his  hand  miscellane 
ously,  as  he  would  have  described  it,  and  moved  away  at 
a  clipping  gait,  stirring  up  quite  a  cloud  of  dust  as  he 
went.  He  reached  Halcyondale,  and  at  once  sought  out 
Major  Tomlin  Perdue,  and  found  that  a  telegram  had 
already  been  sent  to  Captain  Buck  Sanford,  whose 
prompt  reply  over  the  wire  had  been.  "  All  skue  vee," 
which  was  as  satisfactory  as  any  other  form  of  reply 
would  have  been — more  so,  perhaps,  for  it  showed  that 
the  Captain  was  in  high  good-humour. 

Mr.  Tidwell  and  Colonel  Blasengame  arrived  in  time 
[  415   ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

to  eat  a  late  supper,  and  the  next  morning  found  them 
all  ready  to  take  the  train  for  Malvern.  Major  Perdue 
and  Mr.  Sanders  were  in  high  feather.  Somehow  their 
spirits  always  rose  when  a  doubtful  issue  was  to  be  faced. 
On  the  other  hand,  Colonel  Blasengame  and  Mr.  Tidwell 
were  somewhat  thoughtful — the  Colonel  because  he  had 
an  idea  that  they  were  trying  to  "  crowd  him  into  a  back 
seat,"  as  he  expressed  it,  and  Mr.  Tidwell  because  it  had 
occurred  to  him  that  his  presence  might  tend  to  jeopar 
dise  the  case  of  his  son.  They  were  not  gloomy ;  on  the 
contrary  they  were  cheerful;  but  their  spirits  failed  to 
run  as  high  as  those  of  Mr.  Sanders  and  Major  Perdue, 
who  were  engaged  all  the  way  to  Malvern  in  relating 
anecdotes  and  narrating  humourous  stories.  It  seemed 
that  everything  either  one  of  them  said  reminded  the 
other  of  a  story  or  a  humourous  incident,  and  they  kept 
the  car  in  a  roar  until  Malvern  was  reached. 

Mr.  Sanders  did  not  go  at  once  to  the  hotel,  but  turned 
his  attention  to  the  various  details  which  he  had  arranged 
for.  Mr.  Tidwell  went  to  the  hotel  opposite  the  railway 
station,  while  Major  Perdue  and  Colonel  Blasengame, 
for  obvious  reasons,  went  to  the  rival  hotel.  There  they 
found  Captain  Buck  Sahford  lounging  about  with  a 
Winchester  rifle  slung  across  his  shoulder.  A  great 
many  people  were  interested  when  this  pale  and  weary- 
looking  little  man  appeared  in  public  with  a  gun  in  his 
hands,  and  he  was  compelled  to  answer  many  questions 
in  regard  to  the  event.  To  all  he  made  the  same  reply, 
namely,  that  he  had  been  out  practising  at  a  target. 

"  I'm  getting  so  I  can't  miss,"  he  said  to  Major  Per- 
[  416  ] 


SANDERS    RECEIVES    A    MESSAGE 

due.  "I  wasted  twenty-four  cartridges  trying  to  miss 
the  bull's  eye,  but  I  couldn't  do  it.  I  don't  know  what 
to  make  of  it,"  he  complained.  "  There  must  be  some 
thing  wrong  with  me.  That  kind  of  shooting  don't  look 
reasonable.  I'm  afraid  something  is  going  to  happen 
to  me.  It. may  be  a  sign  that  I'm  going  to  fall  over  a 
cellar-door  and  break  my  neck,  or  tumble  downstairs  and 
injure  my  spine." 

Then  he  left  his  gun  with  a  clerk  in  the  hotel,  and, 
taking  Major  Perdue  by  the  arm,  went  into  a  corner  and 
discussed  the  scheme  which  Mr.  Sanders  had  mapped 
out.  They  were  joined  presently  by  Colonel  Blasen- 
game;  and  as  they  sat  there,  whispering  together,  and 
making  many  emphatic  gestures,  they  were  the  centre 
of  observation,  and  word  went  around  that  some  per 
sonal  difficulty,  in  which  these  noted  men  were  to  act  to 
gether,  was  imminent. 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-TWO 


Malvern  Has  a  Holiday 

V  ERY  early  the  next  morning  Malvern  aroused  itself 
to  the  fact  that  the  firemen  and  the  police,  and  a  very 
large  crowd  of  the  rag,  tag  and  bobtail  that  hangs  on 
the  edge  of  all  holiday  occasions,  were  out  for  a  frolic. 
A  band  was  playing,  and  the  old-fashioned  apparatus 
with  which  fire  departments  were  provided  in  that  day 
and  time,  was  showing  the  amazed  and  amused  crowd 
how  to  put  out  an  imaginary  conflagration.  And  it  suc 
ceeded,  too.  Worked  as  it  was  by  hand-power,  it  sent 
a  famously  strong  stream  into  the  very  midst  of  the 
imaginary  conflagration;  and  when  the  fire  raged  no 
longer,  the  gallant  firemen  turned  the  stream  on  the  rag, 
tag  and  bobtail,  and  such  screams  and  such  a  scattering 
as  ensued  has  no  parallel  in  the  history  of  Malvern, 
which  is  a  long  and  varied  one. 

But  what  did  it  all  mean?  It  was  some  kind  of  a 
celebration,  of  course,  but  why  then  did  the  Malvern 
Recorder,  one  of  the  most  enterprising  newspapers  in 
the  State,  as  its  editors  and  proprietors  were  willing  to 
admit,  why,  then,  did  the  Recorder  fail  to  have  an  ap 
propriate  announcement  of  an  event  so  interesting  and 
important?  Was  our  public  press,  the  palladium  of  our 

[   418   J 


MALVERN    HAS    A    HOLIDAY 

liberties,  losing  its  prestige  and  influence?  Certainly  it 
seemed  so,  when  such  an  affair  as  this  could  be  devised 
and  carried  out  without  an  adequate  announcement  in 
the  organ  of  public  opinion. 

After  awhile  there  was  a  lull  in  the  display.  The 
Chief,  who  was  stationed  near  the  depot,  received  au 
thoritative  information  that  the  train  from  Savannah 
was  approaching.  He  waved  his  trumpet,  and  the  fire 
men  formed  themselves  into  a  procession,  and  passed 
twice  in  review  before  their  Chief,  and  then  halted,  with 
their  hose  reels,  and  their  hook  and  ladder  waggons  al 
most  completely  blocking  up  the  entrance  to  the  station. 
The  crowd  had  followed  them,  but  the  police  managed 
to  keep  the  street  clear,  so  that  vehicles  might  effect  a 
passage. 

It  was  well  that  the  officers  of  the  law  had  been  thus 
thoughtful  in  the  matter,  otherwise  a  countryman  who 
chanced  to  be  coming  along  just  then  would  have  found 
it  difficult  to  drive  his  team  even  half  way  through  the 
jam.  He  was  a  typical  Georgia  farmer  in  his  appear 
ance.  He  wore  a  wide  straw  hat  to  preserve  his  com 
plexion,  a  homespun  shirt  and  jeans  trousers,  the  latter 
being  held  in  place  by  a  dirty  pair  of  home-made  sus 
penders.  He  drove  what  is  called  a  spike-team,  two  oxen 
at  the  wheels,  and  a  mule  in  the  lead.  The  day  was 
warm,  but  he  was  warmer.  The  crowd  had  flurried  him, 
and  he  was  perspiring  more  profusely  than  usual.  He 
was  also  inclined  to  use  heated  language,  as  those  near 
est  him  had  no  difficulty  in  discovering.  In  fact,  he  was 
willing  to  make  a  speech,  as  the  crowd  into  which  he  was 

[  419  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

wedging  his  team  grew  denser  and  denser.  It  was  ob 
served  that  when  the  crowd  really  impeded  the  move 
ments  of  his  team,  he  had  a  way  of  touching  the  mule 
in  the  flank  with  the  long  whip  he  carried.  This  was 
invariably  the  signal  for  such  gyrations  on  the  part  of 
the  mule  as  were  calculated  to  make  the  spectators  pay 
due  respect  to  the  animal's  heels. 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  the  countryman,  "  why  you  fellers 
don't  get  out  some'rs  an'  go  to  work.  They's  enough 
men  in  this  crowd  to  make  a  crop  big  enough  to  feed 
a  whole  county,  ef  they'd  git  out  in  the  field  an'  buckle 
down  to  it  stidder  loafin'  roun'  watchin'  'em  spurt  water 
at  nothin'.  It's  a  dad-blamed  shame  that  the  courts 
don't  take  a  han'  in  the  matter.  Ef  you  lived  in  my 
county,  you'd  have  to  work  or  go  to  the  poor-house. 
Whoa,  Beck!  Gee,  Buck!  Why  don't  you  gee,  con 
trive  your  hide !  " 

At  a  touch  from  the  whip,  the  rearing,  plunging,  and 
kicking  of  the  mule  were  renewed,  and  the  team  managed 
to  fight  its  way  to  a  point  opposite  where  the  chief  of 
ficials  of  the  Police  and  Fire  Department  were  standing. 
The  waggon  to  which  the  team  was  attached  was  a  ram 
shackle  affair  apparently,  but  was  strong  enough,  never 
theless,  to  sustain  the  weight  of  three  bales  of  cotton, 
one  of  the  bales  being  somewhat  larger  than  the  others. 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  Chief  of  Police,  elevating  his 
voice  so  that  the  countryman  could  hear  him  distinctly, 
"  this  is  not  a  warehouse.  If  you  want  to  sell  your  cot 
ton,  carry  it  around  the  corner  yonder,  and  there  you'll 
find  the  warehouse  of  Vardcman  &  Stark." 

[  420  ] 


MALVERN     HAS     A     HOLIDAY 

"  If  I  want  to  sell  my  cotton?  Well,  you  don't  reck 
on  I  want  to  give  it  away,  do  you?  Way  over  yander 
in  the  fur  eend  of  town,  they  told  me  that  the  cotton 
warehouse  was  down  here  some'rs,  an'  that  it  was  made 
of  brick.  This  shebang  is  down  yander,  an'  it's  made 
of  brick.  How  fur  is  t'other  place?  " 

"  Right  around  the  corner,"  said  one  in  the  crowd. 

"  Humph — yes ;  that's  the  way  wi'  ever'thing  in  this 
blamed  town  ;  it's  uther  down  yander,  or  right  around  the 
corner.  But  cf  it  was  right  here,  how  could  I  git  to  it? 
Deliver  me  from  places  whar  they  celebrate  Christmas  in 
the  hottest  part  of  June !  Ef  I  ever  git  out'n  the  town 
you'll  never  ketch  me  here  ag'in — I'll  promise  you 
that." 

"  Oh,  Mister,  please  don't  say  that !  "  wailed  some 
humourist  in  the  crowd.  "  There's  hundreds  of  us  that 
couldn't  live  without  you." 

"Oh,  is  that  you?"  cried  the  countryman.  "Tell 
your  sister  Molly  that  I'll  be  down  as  soon  as  I  sell  my 
cotton."  This  set  the  crowd  in  a  roar,  for  though  the 
humourist  had  no  sister  Molly,  the  retort  was  accepted 
as  a  very  neat  method  of  putting  an  end  to  impertinence. 

Inside  the  station  another  scene  was  in  the  full  swing 
of  action.  Certain  well-known  citizens  of  Halcyondale 
had  been  pacing  up  and  down  the  planked  floor  of  the 
station  apparently  awaiting  with  some  impatience  for 
the  moment  to  come  when  the  train  for  Atlanta  would 
be  ready  to  leave.  But  the  train  itself  seemed  to  be  in 
no  particular  hurry.  The  locomotive  was  not  panting 
and  snorting  writh  suppressed  energy,  as  the  moguls  do 

F  421  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

in  our  day,  but  stood  in  its  place  with  the  blue  smoke 
curling  peacefully  from  its  black  chimney.  Presently 
an  access  of  energy  among  the  employees  of  the  station 
gave  notice  to  those  who  were  familiar  with  their  move 
ments  that  the  train  from  Savannah  was  crossing  the 
«  XT  5> 

Mr.  Tidwell,  of  Shady  Dale,  who  was  also  among 
those  who  were  apparently  anxious  to  take  the  train  for 
Atlanta,  ceased  his  restless  walking,  and  stood  leaning 
against  one  of  the  brick  pillars  supporting  the  rear  end 
of  the  structure.  Major  Tomlin  Perdue,  on  the  other 
hand,  leaned  confidently  on  the  counter  of  the  little 
restaurant,  where  a  weary  traveller  could  get  a  cup  of 
hasty  and  very  nasty  coffee  for  a  dime.  The  Major 
was  acquainted  with  the  vendor  of  these  luxuries,  and 
he  informed  the  man  confidentially  that  he  was  simply 
waiting  a  fair  opportunity  to  put  a  few  lead  plugs  into 
the  carcass  of  the  person  at  the  far  end  of  the  station, 
who  was  no  other  than  Mr.  Tidwell. 

"  Is  that  so?  "  asked  the  clerk  breathlessly.  "  Well, 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  he  has  been  having  some 
of  the  same  kind  of  talk  about  you,  and  you'd  better 
keep  your  eye  on  him.  They  say  he's  'most  as  handy 
with  his  pistol  as  Buck  Sanford." 

Slowly  the  Savannah  train  backed  in,  and  slowly  and 
carelessly  Major  Perdue  sauntered  along  the  raised 
floor.  They  had  decided  that  the  prisoners  would  most 
likely  be  in  the  second-class  coach,  and  they  purposed 
to  make  that  coach  the  scene  of  their  sham  duel.  It  was 
a  very  delicate  matter  to  decide  just  when  to  begin  oper- 

[  422  1 


MALVERN     HAS     A     HOLIDAY 

ations.  A  moment  too  soon  or  too  late  would  be  de 
cisive.  When  this  point  was  referred  to  Mr.  Sanders, 
he  settled  it  at  once.  "  What's  your  mouth  for,  Gus  ? 
Shoot  wi'  that  tell  the  time  comes  to  use  your  gun.  And 
the  Major  has  got  about  as  much  mouth  as  you.  Talk 
over  the  rough  places,  an'  talk  loud.  Don't  whisper; 
rip  out  a  few  damns  an'  then  cut  your  caper.  This  is 
about  the  only  chance  you'll  have  to  cuss  the  Major  out 
wi'out  gittin'  hurt.  I  wisht  I  was  in  your  shoes ;  I'd  rake 
him  up  one  side  an'  down  the  other.  You  can  stand  to 
be  cussed  out  in  a  good  cause,  I  reckon,  Major." 

"  Yes— oh,  yes !  It'll  make  my  flesh  crawl,  but  I'll 
stand  it  like  a  baby." 

"  Don't  narry  one  on  you  try  to  be  too  polite,"  said 
Mr.  Sanders,  and  this  was  his  parting  injunction. 

The  two  men  were  the  length  of  the  car  apart  when 
the  Savannah  train  came  to  a  standstill.  "  Perdue !  they 
tell  me  that  you  have  been  hunting  for  me  all  over  the 
city,"  said  Mr.  Tidwell.  He  was  a  trained  speaker,  and 
his  voice  had  great  carrying  power.  The  firemen  of 
both  trains  heard  it  distinctly,  caught  the  note  of  pas 
sion  in  it  and  looked  curiously  out  of  their  cabs. 

'  Yes,  I've  been  hunting  you,  and  now  that  I've  found 
you  you'll  not  get  away  until  you  apologise  to  me  for 
the  language  you  have  used  about  me,"  cried  Major  Per 
due.  He  was  not  as  loud  a  talker  as  Mr.  Tidwell,  but 
his  voice  penetrated  to  every  part  of  the  building. 

"  What  I've  said  I'll  stand  to,"  declared  Mr.  Tidwell, 
"  and  if  you  think  I  have  been  trying  to  keep  out  of 
your  way,  you  will  find  out  differently,  you  blustering 

[  423  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

blackguard!"  (The  Major  insisted  afterward  that 
Tidwell  took  advantage  of  the  occasion  to  give  his  real 
views. ) 

"Are  you  ready,  you  cowardly  hellian?"  cried  the 
Major,  apparently  in  a  rage. 

"  As  ready  as  you  will  ever  be,"  replied  Tidwell  hotly. 
He  was  the  better  actor  of  the  two. 

And  then  just  as  the  prisoners  were  coming  out  of 
the  coach — as  soon  as  Gabriel,  lean  and  haggard,  had 
reached  the  floor  of  the  station,  Major  Perdue  whipped 
out  his  pistol  and  a  shot  rang  out,  clear  and  distinct, 
and  it  was  immediately  reproduced  from  the  further  end 
of  the  car  by  Mr.  Tidwell,  and  then  the  shooting  became 
a  regular  fusillade.  There  was  a  wild  scattering  on  the 
part  of  the  crowd  assembled  in  the  station,  a  scuffling, 
scurrying  panic,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  all  Gabriel  ducked 
his  head,  and  made  a  rush  with  the  rest.  He  had  been 
handcuffed,  but  his  wrist  was  nearly  as  large  as  his  hand, 
and  he  had  found  early  in  his  experience  with  these  brace 
lets  that  by  placing  his  thumb  in  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
he  would  have  no  difficulty  in  freeing  himself  from  the 
irons.  This  he  had  accomplished  without  much  trouble, 
as  soon  as  he  started  out  of  the  car,  and  when  he  ducked 
his  head  and  ran,  he  had  nothing  to  impede  his  move 
ments. 

And  Gabriel  was  always  swift  of  foot,  as  Cephas  will 
tell  you.  On  the  present  occasion,  he  brought  all  his 
strength,  and  energy,  and  will  to  bear  on  his  efforts  to 
escape.  Running  half-bent,  he  was  afraid  the  crowd 
which  he  saw  all  about  him,  pushing  and  shoving,  and 

f  424  1 


MALVERN     HAS     A     HOLIDAY 

apparently  making  frantic  efforts  to  escape,  would  give 
him  some  trouble.  But  strangely  enough,  this  strug 
gling  crowd  seemed  to  help  him  along.  He  saw  men  all 
around  him  with  uniforms  on,  and  wearing  queerly 
shaped  hats.  They  opened  a  way  before  him  and  closed 
in  behind  him.  He  heard  a  sharp  cry,  "  Prisoner  es 
caped  !  "  and  he  heard  the  energetic  commands  of  the 
officer  in  charge,  but  still  the  crowd  opened  a  way  in 
front  of  him,  and  closed  up  behind  him.  This  pathway, 
formed  of  struggling  firemen,  led  Gabriel  away  from  the 
main  entrance,  and  conducted  him  to  the  side,  where 
there  was  an  opening  between  the  pillars.  Not  twenty 
feet  away  was  the  countryman  with  his  queer-looking 
team.  He  was  still  complaining  of  the  way  he  had  been 
taken  in  by  the  town  fellers  who  had  told  him  that  the 
station  was  a  cotton  warehouse. 

Gabriel  recognised  the  voice  and  ran  toward  it, 
jumped  into  the  waggon,  and  crawled  under  the  cover. 
"  Now  here — now  here !  "  cried  the  countryman,  "  you 
kin  rob  me  of  my  money,  an'  make  a  fool  out'n  me  about 
your  cotton  warehouses,  but  be  jigged  ef  I'll  let  you  take 
my  waggin  an'  team.  I  dunner  what  you're  up  to,  but 
you'll  have  to  git  out'n  my  waggin."  With  that  he 
stripped  the  cover  from  the  top,  and,  lo!  there  was  no 
one  there ! 

He  turned  to  the  astonished  crowd  with  open  mouth. 
"  Wher'  in  the  nation  did  he  go?  "  he  cried.  There  was 
no  answer  to  this,  for  the  spectators  were  as  much  aston 
ished  as  Mr.  Sanders  professed  to  be.  The  man  who 
had  crawled  under  the  waggon-cover  had  disappeared. 

[  425   1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

He  turned  to  the  astonished  crowd  with  a  face  on 
which  amazement  was  depicted,  crying  out,  "  Now,  you 
see,  gentlemen,  what  honest  men  have  to  endyore  when 
they  come  to  your  blame  town.  Whoever  he  is,  an'  whar- 
soever  he  may  be,  that  chap  ain't  up  to  no  good."  Then 
he  looked  under  the  waggon  and  between  the  bales  of 
cotton,  and,  finally,  took  the  cover  and  shook  it  out,  as 
if  it  might  be  possible  for  one  of  the  "  slick  city  fellers  " 
to  hide  in  any  impossible  place. 

There  was  a  tremendous  uproar  in  the  station,  caused 
by  the  soldiers  trying  to  run  over  the  firemen  and  the 
efforts  of  the  firemen  to  prevent  them.  In  a  short  time, 
however,  a  squad  of  soldiers  had  forced  themselves 
through  the  crowd,  and  as  they  made  their  appearance, 
Mr.  Sanders  gave  the  word  to  old  Beck,  saying  as  he 
moved  off,  "  Ef  you  gents  will  excuse  me,  I'll  mosey 
along,  an'  the  next  time  I  have  a  crap  of  cotton  to  sell, 
I'll  waggin  it  to  some  place  or  other  wher'  w'arhouses 
ain't  depots,  an'  wher'  jugglers  don't  jump  on  you  an5 
make  the'r  disappearance  in 'broad  daylight.  This  is 
my  fust  trip  to  this  great  town,  an'  it'll  be  my  last  ef  I 
know  myself,  an'  I  ruther  reckon  I  do." 

As  he  spoke,  his  team  Was  moving  slowly  off,  and  the 
soldiers  who  were  in  pursuit  of  Gabriel  had  no  idea  that 
it  was  worth  their  while  to  give  the  countryman  and  his 
superannuated  equipment  more  than  a  passing  glance. 
It  was  providential  that  Captain  Falconer,  who  was  to 
have  conveyed  the  prisoners  to  Atlanta,  should  have  been 
confined  to  his  bed  with  an  attack  of  malarial  fever  when 
the  order  for  their  removal  came.  The  Captain  would 

[  426  ] 


MALVERN     HAS     A     HOLIDAY 

surely  have  recognised  the  countryman  as  Mr.  Sanders, 
and  the  probability  is  that  Gabriel  would  have  been  re 
captured,  though  Captain  Buck  Sanford,  who  was  sit 
ting  in  an  upper  window  of  the  hotel,  with  his  Winchester 
across  his  lap,  says  not. 

The  officer  in  charge  did  all  that  he  could  have  been 
expected  to  do  under  the  circumstances.  By  a  stroke  of 
good-luck,  as  he  supposed,  he  found  the  Chief  of  Police 
near  the  entrance  of  the  station  and  interested  that  of 
ficial  in  his  effort  to  recapture  the  prisoner  who  had  es 
caped.  By  order  of  the  military  commander  in  At 
lanta,  the  train  was  held  a  couple  of  hours  while  the 
search  for  Gabriel  proceeded.  The  whole  town  was 
searched  and  researched,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Gabriel 
had  disappeared,  and  was  not  to  be  found  by  any  person 
hostile  to  his  interests. 

Mr.  Sanders  drove  his  team  around  to  the  warehouse 
of  Vardeman  &  Stark,  where  he  was  met  by  Colonel  Tom 
Vardeman,  who,  besides  being  a  cotton  factor,  was  one 
of  the  political  leaders  of  the  day,  and  as  popular  a  man 
as  there  was  in  the  State. 

"  I  heard  a  terrible  fusillade  in  the  direction  of  the 
depot,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Sanders,  as  the  latter  drove  up. 
"  I  hope  nobody's  hurt." 

"  Well,  they  ain't  much  damage  done,  I  reckon.  Gus 
Tidwell  an'  Major  Perdue  took  a  notion  to  play  a  game 
of  tag  wi'  pistols.  They're  doin'  it  jest  for  fun,  I  reck 
on.  They  want  to  show  you  city  fellers  that  all  the  pub 
lic  sperrit  an'  enterprise  ain't  knocked  out'n  the  country 
chaps." 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

"  Well,  they're  almost  certain  to  get  in  the  lock-up," 
remarked  Colonel  Tom  Vardeman. 

"  It  reely  looks  that  away,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  drily ; 
"  the  Chief  of  Police  was  standin'  in  front  of  the  depot, 
an'  ev'ry  time  a  gun'd  go  off  he'd  wink  at  me." 

Colonel  Tom  laughed,  and  then  turned  to  Mr.  San 
ders  with  a  serious  air.  "  What  did  I  tell  you  about  that 
wild  plan  of  yours  to  rescue  one  of  the  prisoners? 
You've  had  all  your  trouble  for  nothing,  and  the  prob 
ability  is  that  you  are  out  considerable  cash  first  and 
last.  You  don't  catch  grown  men  asleep  any  more. 
Why,  if  the  officer  in  charge  of  those  poor  boys  were  to 
permit  one  of  them  to  escape,  he'd  be  court-martialled, 
and  it  would  serve  him  right." 

"  So  it  would,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders,  "  an'  I'm  mighty 
glad  it  wa'n't  Captain  Falconer.  This  feller  that  had 
the  boys  in  tow  is  a  stranger  to  me,  an'  I'm  glad  of  it. 
He'll  never  know  who  lost  him  his  job.  He's  a  right 
nice-lookin'  feller,  too,  but  when  he  run  out'n  the  depot 
awhile  ago,  his  face  kinder  spoke  up  an'  said  he  had  had 
a  dram  too  much  some  time  endyorin'  of  the  night;  or 
his  colour  mought  'a'  been  high  bekaze  he  was  flurried 
or  skeered.  Now,  then,  Colonel  Tom,  ef  you've  done 
what  you  laid  off  to  do,  an'  I  don't  misdoubt  it  in  the 
least,  you've  got  a  safe  place  wher'  I  kin  store  a  bale  of 
long-staple  cotton,  ag'in  a  rise  in  prices.  Ef  you've  got 
it  fixed,  I'll  drive  right  in,  bekaze  the  kind  of  cotton  I'm 
dealin'  in  will  spile  ef  it  lays  in  the  sun  too  long." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me " 

"  I'm  mean  enough  for  anything,  Colonel  Tom ;  but 
f  428  1 


MALVERN     HAS     A    HOLIDAY 

right  now,  I  want  to  git  whcr'  I  can  drench  a  long-suf- 
ferin'  friend  of  mine  wi'  a  big  gourdful  of  cold  water." 

"  But,  Mr.  Sanders " 

"  Ef  you'd  'a'  stuck  in  the  William  H.,  you'd  'a'  purty 
nigh  had  my  whole  name,"  remarked  Mr.  Sanders  with 
a  solemn  air. 

"  Why,  dash  it,  man !  you've  taken  my  breath  away. 
Drive  right  in  there.  John !  Henry !  come  here,  you 
lazy  rascals^  and  take  this  team  out !  I  told  you,"  said 
Colonel  Tom  to  Mr.  Sanders  as  the  negroes  came  for 
ward,  "  that  you  couldn't  get  any  better  prices  for  your 
cotton  than  I  offered  you.  We  treat  everybody  right 
over  here,  and  that's  the  way  we  keep  our  trade." 

The  two  negroes  were  detailed  to  convey  the  mule  and 
the  oxen  to  the  stable  where  Mr.  Sanders  had  arranged 
for  their  "  keep,"  as  he  termed  it,  and  as  soon  as  they 
were  out  of  sight,  Mr.  Sanders  went  to  the  rear  of  the 
waggon,  and  said  playfully,  "  Peep  eye,  Gabriel ! " 
Receiving  no  answer^  he  was  suddenly  seized  with  the 
idea  that  the  young  man  had  suffocated  behind  the  loose 
cotton  which  was  intended  to  conceal  him.  But  no  such 
thing  had  happened.  Gabriel  had  plenty  of  breathing- 
room,  and  the  practical  and  unromantic  rascal  was 
sound  asleep.  His  quarters  were  warm,  but  the  sweat- 
boxes  at  Fort  Pulaski  were  hotter.  It  was  very  fortu 
nate  for  Gabriel  that  the  reaction  from  the  strain  under 
which  he  had  been,  took  the  blessed  shape  of  sleep. 

Gabriel's  place  of  concealment  was  simplicity  itself. 
With  his  own  hands  Mr.  Sanders  had  constructed  a  stout 
box  of  oak  boards,  and  around  this  he  had  packed  cotton 

[  429  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

until  the  affair,  when  complete,  had  the  appearance  of 
an  extra  large  bale  of  cotton,  covered  with  bagging, 
and  roped  as  the  majority  of  cotton-bales  were  in  those 
days.  The  only  way  to  discover  the  sham  was  to  pull 
out  the  cotton  that  concealed  the  opening  in  the  end  of 
the  box.  In  delivering  his  message  to  Cephas,  Mr.  San 
ders  had  called  this  loose  cotton  a  plug,  and  the  fact 
that  the  word  was  new  to  the  vocabulary  of  the  school 
children  gave  great  trouble  to  Gabriel,  causing  him  to 
lose  considerable  sleep  in  the  effort  to  translate  it  satis 
factorily  to  himself.  The  meaning  dawned  on  him  one 
night  when  he  had  practically  abandoned  all  hope  of 
discovering  it,  and  then  the  whole  scheme  became  so  clear 
to  him  that  he  could  have  shouted  for  joy. 

It  was  thought  that  a  search  would  be  made  for  Ga 
briel  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Shady  Dale,  and  it  was 
decided  that  it  would  be  best  for  him  to  remain  in  the 
city  until  all  noise  of  the  pursuit  had  died  away.  But 
no  pursuit  was  ever  made,  and  it  soon  became  apparent 
to  the  public  at  large  that  radicalism  was  burning  itself 
out  at  last,  after  a  weary  time.  When  rage  has  nothing 
to  feed  upon  it  consumes  itself,  especially  when  various 
chronic  maladies  common  to  mankind  take  a  hand  in  the 
game. 

Not  only  was  no  pursuit  made  of  Gabriel,  but  the  de 
tachment  of  Federal  troops  which  had  been  stationed  at 
Shady  Dale  was  withdrawn.  The  young  men  who  had 
been  arrested  with  Gabriel  were  placed  on  trial  before  a 
-f-  military  court,  but  with  the  connivance  of  counsel  for 
the  prosecution,  the  trial  dragged  along  until  the  mili- 

[  430  1 


MALVERN    HAS    A    HOLIDAY 

tary  commander  issued  a  proclamation  announcing  that 
civil  government  had  been  restored  in  the  State,  and  the 
prisoners  were  turned  over  to  the  State  courts.  And  as 
there  was  not  the  shadow  of  a  case  against  them,  they 
were  never  brought  to  trial,  a  fact  which  caused  some 
one  to  suggest  to  Mr.  Sanders  that  all  his  work  in  behalf 
of  Gabriel  had  been  useless. 

"  Well,  it  didn't  do  Gabriel  no  good,  maybe,"  re 
marked  the  veteran,  "  but  it  holp  me  up  mightily.  It  gi' 
me  somethin'  to  think  about,  an'  it  holp  me  acrosst  some 
mighty  rough  places.  You  have  to  pass  the  time  away 
anyhow,  an'  what  better  way  is  they  than  workin'  for 
them  you  like  ?  Why,  I  knowed  a  gal,  an'  a  mighty  fine 
one  she  was,  who  knit  socks  for  a  feller  she  had  took  a 
fancy  to.  The  feller  died,  but  she  went  right  ahead  wi' 
her  knittin'  just  the  same.  Now,  that  didn't  do  the 
feller  a  mite  of  good,  but  it  holp  the  gal  up  might'ly." 


431   ] 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-THREE 


Gabriel  as  an  Orator 

J.HE  Malvern  Recorder  was  very  kind  to  Gabriel,  and 
said  nothing  in  regard  to  his  escape.  This  was  due  to 
a  timely  suggestion  on  the  part  of  Colonel  Tom  Varde- 
man,  who  rightly  guessed  that  the  Government  authori 
ties  would  be  more  willing  to  permit  the  affair  to  blow 
over,  provided  the  details  were  not  made  notorious  in  the 
newspapers.  As  the  result  of  the  Colonel's  discretion, 
there  was  not  a  hint  in  the  public  press  that  one  of  the 
prisoners  had  eluded  the  vigilance  of  those  who  had 
charge  of  him.  There  was  a  paragraph  or  two  in  the 
Recorder,  stating  that  the  Shady  Dale  prisoners — "  the 
victims  of  Federal  tyranny  " — had  passed  through  the 
city  on  their  way  to  Atlanta,  and  a  long  account  was 
given  of  their  sufferings  in  Fort  Pulaski.  The  facts 
were  supplied  by  Gabriel*  but  the  printed  account  went 
far  beyond  anything  he  had  said.  "  They  are  not  the 
first  martyrs  that  have  suffered  in  the  cause  of  liberty," 
said  the  editor  of  the  Recorder,  in  commenting  on  the 
account  in  the  local  columns,  "  and  they  will  not  be  the 
last.  Let  the  radicals  do  their  worst;  on  the  old  red 
hills  of  Georgia,  the  camp-fires  of  Democracy  have  been 
kindled,  and  they  will  continue  to  burn  and  blaze  long 

[   433   ] 


GABRIEL    AS    AN    ORATOR 

after  the  tyrants  and  corruptionists  have  been  driven 
from  power." 

Gabriel  read  this  eloquent  declaration  somewhat  un 
easily.  There  was  something  in  it,  and  something  in  the 
exaggeration  of  the  facts  that  he  had  given  to  the  rep 
resentative  of  the  paper  that  jarred  upon  him.  He  had 
already'  in  his  own  mind  separated  the  Government  and 
its  real  interests  from  the  selfish  aims  and  desires  of 
those  who  were  temporarily  clothed  with  authority,  and 
he  had  begun  to  suspect  that  there  might  also  be  some 
thing  selfish  behind  the  utterances  of  those  who  made 
such  vigorous  protests  against  tyranny.  The  matter  is  ^ 
hardly  worth  referring  to  in  these  days  when  shams  and 
humbugs  appear  before  the  public  in  all  their  nakedness ; 
but  it  was  worth  a  great  deal  to  Gabriel  to  be  able  to 
suspect  that  the  champions  of  constitutional  liberty,  and 
the  defenders  of  popular  rights,  in  the  great  majority 
of  instances  had  their  eyes  on  the  flesh-pots.  The  sus 
picions  he  entertained  put  him  on  his  guard  at  a  time 
when  he  was  in  danger  of  falling  a  victim  to  the  rhetoric  -f 
of  orators  and  editors,  and  they  preserved  him  from 
many  a  mistaken  belief. 

During  the  period  that  intervened  between  his  escape 
and  the  announcement  of  the  restoration  of  civil  govern 
ment  in  Georgia,  Gabriel  settled  down  to  a  course  of 
reading  in  the  law  office  of  Judge  Vardeman,  Colonel 
Tom's  brother.  He  did  this  on  the  advice  of  those  who 
were  old  enough  to  know  that  idleness  does  not  agree 
with  a  healthy  youngster,  especially  in  a  large  city.  His 
experience  in  Judge  Vardeman's  office  decided  his  career. 

[  433  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

He  was  fascinated  from  the  very  beginning.  He  found 
the  dullest  law-book  interesting;  and  he  became  so  ab 
sorbed  in  his  reading  that  the  genial  Judge  was  obliged 
to  warn  him  that  too  much  study  was  sometimes  as  bad 
as  none. 

Yet  the  lad's  appetite  grew  by  what  it  fed  on.  A  new 
field  had  been  opened  up  to  him,  and  he  entered'  it  with 
delight.  Here  was  what  he  had  been  longing  for,  and 
there  were  moments  when  he  felt  sure  that  he  had  heard 
delivered  from  the  bench,  or  had  dreamed,  the  grave 
and  sober  maxims  and  precepts  that  confronted  him  on 
the  printed  page.  He  pursued  his  studies  in  a  state  of 
exaltation  that  caused  the  days  to  fly  by  unnoted.  He 
thought  of  home,  and  of  his  grandmother,  and  a  vision 
of  Nan  sometimes  disturbed  his  slumbers;  but  for  the 
time  being  there  was  nothing  real  but  the  grim  com 
mentators  and  expounders  of  the  common  law. 

When  Mr.  Sanders  returned  home,  bearing  the  news 
of  Gabriel's  escape,  Nan  Dorrington  laid  siege  to  his 
patience,  and  insisted  that  he,  go  over  every  detail  of  the 
event,  not  once  but  a  dozen  times.  To  her  it  was  a  re 
markable  adventure,  which  fitted  in  well  with  the  ro 
mances  which  she  had  been  weaving  all  her  life.  How 
did  Gabriel  look  when  he  ran  from  the  depot  at  Malvern? 
Was  he  frightened?  And  how  in  the  world  did  he  man- 
fifijc  to  get  in  the  waggon,  and  crawl  on  the  inside  of  the 
sham  bale  of  cotton  and  hide  so  that  nobody  could  see 
him?  And  what  did  he  say  and  how  did  he  look  when 
Mr.  Sanders  found  him  asleep  in  the  cotton-bale  box,  or 
the  cotton-box  bale,  whichever  you  might  call  it? 

[  434   1 


GABRIEL    AS    AN    ORATOR 

"  Why,  honey,  I've  told  you  all  I  know  an'  a  whole 
lot  more,"  protested  Mr.  Sanders.  "  Ef  ever'body  was 
name  Nan,  I'd  be  the  most  populous  man  in  the  whole 
county." 

"  Well,  tell  me  this,"  Nan  insisted ;  "  what  did  he  talk 
about  when  he  woke  up?  Did  he  ask  about  any  of  the 
home-folks?" 

"  Lemme  see,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  pretending  to  re 
flect  ;  "  he  turned  over  in  his  box,  an'  got  his  ha'r  ketched 
in  a  rough  plank,  an'  then  he  bust  out  cryin'  jest  like 
you  use  to  do  when  you  got  hurt.  I  kinder  muched  him 
up,  an'  then  he  up  an'  tol'  me  a  whole  lot  of  stuff  about 
a  young  lady :  how  he  was  gwine  to  win  her  ef  he  had  to 
stop  chawin'  tobacco,  an'  cussin'.  I'll  name  no  names, 
bekaze  I  promised  him  I  wouldn't." 

"  I  think  that  is  disgusting,"  Nan  declared.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  he  never  asked  about  his  grand 
mother?  " 

"  Fiddlesticks,  Nan !  he  looked  at  me  like  he  was  hun 
gry,  an'  I  told  him  all  about  his  grandmother,  an'  he 
kep'  on  a-lookin'  hungry,  an'  I  told  him  all  about  her 
neighbours.  What  he  said  I  couldn't  tell  you  no  more 
than  the  man  in  the  moon.  He  done  jest  like  any  other 
healthy  boy  would  'a'  done,  an'  that's  all  I  know  about 
it." 

"  That's  what  I  thought,"  said  Nan  wearily ;  "  boys 
are  so  tiresome !  " 

"  Well,  Gabriel  didn't  look  much  like  a  boy  when  I 
seed  him  last.  He  hadn't  shaved  in  a  month  of  Sun 
days,  and  his  beard  was  purty  nigh  as  long  as  my  little 

[  435  i 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

finger.  He  couldn't  go  to  a  barber-shop  in  Malvern  for 
fear  some  of  the  niggers  might  know  him  an'  report  him 
to  the  commander  of  the  post  there.  I  begged  him  not 
to  shave  the  beard  off.  He  lobks  mighty  well  wi'  it." 

"  His  beard !  "  cried  Nan.  "  If  he  comes  home  with 
a  beard  I'll  never  speak  to  him  again.  Gabriel  with  a 
beard !  It  is  too  ridiculous !  " 

"  Don't  worry,"  Mr.  Sanders  remarked  soothingly. 
"  Ef  I  git  word  of  his  comin'  I'll  git  me  a  pa'r  of  shears, 
an'  meet  him  outside  the  corporation  line,  an'  lop  his 
whiskers  off  for  him ;  but  I  tell  you  now,  it  won't  make 
him  look  a  bit  purtier — not  a  bit." 

"  You  needn't  trouble  yourself,"  said  Nan,  with  con 
siderable  dignity.  "  I  have  no  interest  in  the  matter  at 
all." 

"  Well,  I  thought  maybe  you'd  be  glad  to  git  Ga 
briel's  beard  an'  make  it  in  a  sofy  pillow." 

"  Why,  whoever  heard  of  such  a  thing?  "  cried  Nan. 
In  common  with  many  others,  she  was  not  always  sure 
when  Mr.  Sanders  was  to  be  taken  seriously. 

"  I  knowed  a  man  once,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders,  by  way 
of  making  a  practical  application  of  his  suggestion, 
"  that  vowed  he'd  never  shave  his  beard  off  till  Henry 
Clay  was  elected  President.  Well,  it  growed  an'  growed, 
an'  bimeby  it  got  so  long  that  he  had  to  wrop  it  around 
his  body  a  time  or  two  for  to  keep  it  from  draggin'  the 
ground.  It  went  on  that  away  for  a  considerbul  spell, 
till  one  day,  whilst  he  was  takin'  a  nap,  his  wife  took  her 
scissors  an'  whacked  it  off.  The  reason  she  give  was 
that  she  wanted  to  make  four  or  five  sofy  pillows;  but 

[   436  1 


GABRIEL    AS    AN    ORATOR 

I  heard  afterwards  that  she  changed  her  mind,  an'  made 
a  good  big  mattress." 

Nan  looked  hard  at  the  solemn  countenance  of  Mr. 
Sanders,  trying  to  discover  whether  he  was  in  earnest, 
but  older  and  wiser  eyes  than  hers  had  often  failed  to 
penetrate  behind  the  veil  of  childlike  serenity  that  some 
times  clothed  his  features. 

One  day  while  Gabriel  was  deep  in  a  law-book,  Colonel 
Tom  Vardeman  came  in  smiling.  He  had  a  telegram  in 
his  hand,  which  he  tossed  to  Gabriel.  It  was  from  Ma 
jor  Tomlin  Perdue,  and  contained  an  urgent  request  for 
Gabriel  to  take  the  next  train  for  Halcyondale,  where  he 
would  meet  the  prisoners  who  had  been  released  pending 
their  trial  by  the  State  courts,  an  event  that  never  came 
off.  Gabriel  had  seen  in  the  morning  paper  that  the 
prisoners  were  to  be  released  in  a  day  or  two;  but  un 
doubtedly  Major  Perdue  had  the  latest  information,  for 
he  was  in  communication  with  Meriw'ether  Clopton  and 
other  friends  of  the  prisoners  who  were  in  Atlanta  watch 
ing  the  progress  of  the  case. 

Gabriel  lost  no  time  in  making  his  arrangements  to 
leave,  and  he  was  in  Halcyondale  some  hours  before  the 
Atlanta  train  was  due.  When  all  had  arrived,  they  were 
for  going  home  at  once ;  but  the  citizens  of  Halcyondale, 
led  by  Major  Perdue  and  Colonel  Blasengame,  would  not 
hear  of  such  a  thing. 

"  No,  sirs !  "  exclaimed  Major  Perdue.  "  You  young 
ones  have  been  away  from  home  long  enough  to  be 
weaned,  and  a  day  or  two  won't  make  any  difference  to 
anybody's  feelings.  We  have  long  been  wanting  a  red- 

I  +37  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

letter  day  in  this  section,  and  now  that  we've  got  the  ex 
cuse  for  making  one,  we're  not  going  to  let  it  go  by. 
Everything  is  fixed,  or  will  be  by  day  after  to-morrow. 
We're  going  to  have  a  barbecue  half-way  between  this 
town  and  Shady  Dale.  The  time  was  ripe  for  it  any 
how,  and  you  fellows  make  it  more  binding.  The  people 
of  the  two  counties  haven't  had  a  jollification  since  the 
war,  and  they  couldn't  have  one  while  it  was  going  on. 
They  haven't  had  an  excuse  for  it ;  and  now  that  we  have 
the  excuse  we're  not  going  to  turn  it  loose  until  the  jolli 
fication  is  over." 

And  so  it  was  arranged.  Notice  was  given  to  the  peo 
ple  in  the  old-fashioned  way,  and  nearly  everybody  in 
the  two  counties  not  only  contributed  something  to  the 
barbecue,  but  came  to  enjoy  it,  and  when  they  were  as 
sembled  they  made  up  the  largest  crowd  that  had  been 
seen  together  in  that  section  since  the  day  when  Alex 
ander  Stephens  arid  Judge  Cone  had  their  famous  de 
bate — a  debate  which  finally  ended  in  a  personal  encoun 
ter  between  the  two. 

The  details  of  the  barbecue  were  in  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Sanders,  who  was  famous  in  those  days  for  his  skill  in 
such  matters.  The  fires  had  been  lighted  the  night  be 
fore,  and  when  the  sun  rose,  long  lines  of  carcasses  were 
slowly  roasting  over  the  red  coals,  contributing  to  the 
breezes  an  aroma  so  persistent  and  penetrating  that  it 
could  be  recognised  miles  away,  and  so  delicious  that,  as 
Mr.  Sanders  remarked,  "  it  would  make  a  sick  man's 
mouth  water." 

A  speaker's  stand  had  been  erected,  and  everything 
[   438    1 


GABRIEL    AS    AN    ORATOR 

was  arranged  just  as  it  would  have  been  for  a  political 
meeting.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  formality  too. 
Major  Perdue  prided  himself  on  doing  such  things  in 
style.  He  was  a  great  hand  to  preside  at  political  meet 
ings,  in  which  there  is  considerable  formality.  As  the 
Major  managed  the  affair,  the  friends  of  the  young  men 
caught  their  first  glimpse  of  them  as  they  went  upon  the 
stand.  By  some  accident,  or  it  may  have  been  arranged 
by  Major  Perdue,  Gabriel  was  the  first  to  make  his  ap 
pearance,  but  he  was  closely  followed  by  the  rest.  A 
tremendous  shout  went  up  from  the  immense  audience, 
which  was  assembled  in  front  of  the  stand,  and  this  was 
what  the  Major  had  arranged  for.  The  shouts  and 
cheers  of  a  great  assemblage  were  as  music  in  his  ears. 
He  comported  himself  with  as  much  pride  as  if  all  the 
applause  were  a  tribute  to  him.  He  advanced  to  the 
front,  and  stood  drinking  it  in  greedily,  not  because  he. 
was  a  vain  man,  but  because  he  was  fond  of  the  excite 
ment  with  which  the  presence  of  a  crowd  inspired  him. 
It  made  his  blood  tingle;  it  warmed  him  as  a  glass  of 
spiced  wine  warms  a  sick  person. 

When  the  applause  had  subsided,  the  Major  made 
quite  a  little  speech,  in  which  he  referred  to  the  spirit  of 
martyrdom  betrayed  by  the  young  patriots,  who  had  been 
seized  and  carried  into  captivity  by  the  strong  hand  of  a 
tyrannical  Government,  and  he  managed  to  stir  the 
crowd  to  a  great  pitch  of  excitement.  He  brought  his 
remarks  to  a  close  by  introducing  his  young  friend,  Ga 
briel  Tolliver. 

There  was  tremendous  cheering  at  this,  and  all  of  a 
[  439  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

sudden  Gabriel  woke  up  to  the  fact  that  his  name  had 
been  called,  and  he  looked  around  with  a  dazed  expres 
sion  on  his  face.  He  had  been  trying  to  see  if  he  could 
find  the  face  of  Nan  Dorrington  in  the  crowd,  but  so  far 
he  had  failed,  and  he  woke  out  of  a  dream  to  hear  a  mul 
titude  of  voices  shouting  his  name.  "  Why,  what  do 
they  mean?  "  he  asked. 

"  Get  up  there  and  face  'em,"  said  Major  Perdue. 

Now,  Nan  was  not  so  very  far  from  the  stand,  so 
cjose,  indeed,  that  she  had  not  been  in  Gabriel's  field  of 
vision  while  he  was  sitting  down;  but  when  he  rose  to 
his  feet  she  was  the  first  person  he  saw,  and  he  observed 
that  she  was  very  pale.  In  fact,  Nan  had  shrunk  back 
when  the  Major  announced  that  Gabriel  would  speak  for 
his  fellow-martyrs,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  she  fairly 
hated  the  man.  She  might  not  be  very  fond  of  Gabriel, 
but  she  didn't  want  to  see  him  made  a  fool  of  before  so 
many  people. 

Somehow  or  other,  the  young  fellow  divined  her 
thought,  and  he  smiled  in  spite  of  himself.  He  had  no 
notion  what  to  say,  but  he  had  the  gift  of  saying  some 
thing,  very  strongly  developed  in  him ;  and  he  knew  the 
moment  he  saw  Nan's  scared  face  that  he  must  acquit 
himself  with  credit.  So  he  looked  at  her  and  smiled,  and 
she  tried  to  smile  in  return,  but  it  was  a  very  pitiful  little 
smile.  Gabriel  walked  to  the  small  table  and  leaned  one 
hand  on  it,  and  his  composure  was  so  reassuring  to  every 
body  but  Nan,  that  the  cheering  was  renewed  and  kept 
up  while  the  youngster  was  trying  to  put  his  poor 
thoughts  together. 

f  440  1 


GABRIEL    AS    AN    ORATOR 

He  began  by  thanking  Major  Perdue  for  his  sympa 
thetic  remarks,  and  then  proceeded  to  take  sharp  issue 
with  the  whole  spirit  of  the  Major's  speech,  using  as  the 
basis  of  his  address  an  idea  that  had  been  put  into  his 
head  by  Judge  Vardeman.  The  day  before  he  left  Mal- 
vern,  the  Judge  had  asked  him  this  question :  "  Why 
should  a  parcel  of  politicians  turn  us  against  a  Govern-^ 
ment  under  which  we  are  compelled  to  live  ?  " 

This  was  the  basis  of  Gabriel's  remarks.  He  elab 
orated  it,  and  was  perhaps  the  first  person  in  the  coun 
try  to  ask  if  there  was  any  Confederate  soldier  who  had 
feelings  of  hatred  against  the  soldiers  of  the  Union.  He 
had  not  gone  far  before  he  had  the  audience  completely 
under  his  control.  Almost  every  statement  he  made  was 
received  with  shouts  of  approval,  and  in  some  instances 
the  applause  was  such  that  he  had  time  to  stand  and-/ 
gaze  at  Nan,  whose  colour  had  returned,  and  who  occa 
sionally  waved  the  little  patch  of  lace-bordered  muslin 
that  she  called  a  handkerchief. 

She  was  almost  frightened  at  Gabriel's  composure. 
The  last  time  she  had  seen  him,  he  was  an  awkward  young 
man,  whose  hands  and  feet  were  always  in  his  way.  She 
felt  that  she  was  his  superior  then ;  but  how  would  she 
feel  in  the  presence  of  this  grave  young  man,  who  was 
as  composed  while  addressing  an  immense  crowd  as  if  he 
had  been  talking  to  Cephas,  and  who  was  dealing  out 
advice  to  his  seniors  right  and  left  ?  Nan  was  very  sure 
in  her  own  mind  that  she  would  never  understand  Gabriel 
again,  and  the  thought  robbed  the  occasion  of  a  part  of 
its  enjoyment.  She  allowed  her  thoughts  to  wander  to 

[  441    ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

such  an  extent  that  she  forgot  the  speech,  and  had  her 
mind  recalled  to  it  only  when  the  frantic  screams  of  the 
audience  split  her  ears,  and  she  saw  Gabriel,  flushed  and 
triumphant,  returning  to  his  seat.  Then  the  real  nature 
of  his  triumph  dawned  on  her,  as  she  saw  Meriwether 
Clopton  and  all  the  others  on  the  stand  crowding  around 
Gabriel  and  shaking  his  hand.  She  sat  very  quiet  and 
subdued  until  she  felt  some  one  touch  her  shoulder.  It 
was  Cephas,  and  he  wanted  to  know  what  she  thought  of 
it  all.  Wasn't  it  splendiferous? 

Nan  made  no  reply,  but  gave  the  little  lad  a  message 
for  Gabriel,  which  he  delivered  with  promptness.  He 
edged  his  way  through  the  crowd,  crawled  upon  the 
stand,  and  pulled  at  Gabriel's  coat-tails.  The  great 
orator — that's  what  Cephas  thought  he  was — seized  the 
little  fellow  and  hugged  him  before  all  the  crowd;  and 
though  many  years  have  passed,  Cephas  has  never  had 
a  triumph  of  any  kind  that  was  quite  equal  to  the  pride 
he  felt  while  Gabriel  held  him  in  his  arms.  The  little 
fellow  took  this  occasion  to  deliver  his  message,  which 
was  to  the  effect  that  Gabriel  was  to  ride  home  in  the 
Dorrington  carriage  with  Nan. 


442  ] 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-FOUR 


Nan  Surrenders 

J_T  was  all  over  at  last,  and  Gabriel  found  himself  seat 
ed  in  the  carriage,  side  by  side  with  the  demurest  and 
the  quietest  young  lady  he  had  ever  seen.  He  had 
shaken  hands  until  his  arm  was  sore,  and  he  had  hunted 
for  Nan  everywhere ;  and  finally,  when  he  had  given  up 
the  search,  he  heard  her  calling  him  and  saw  her  beckon 
ing  him  from  a  carriage.  There  was  not  much  of  a 
greeting  between  them,  and  he  saw  at  once  that,  while 
this  was  the  Nan  he  had  known  all  his  life,  she  had 
changed  greatly.  What  he  didn't  know  was  that  the 
change  had  taken  place  while  he  was  in  the  midst  of  his 
speech.  She  was  just  as  beautiful  as  ever;  in  fact,  her 
loveliness  seemed  to  be  enhanced  by  some  new  light  in 
her  eyes — or  was  it  the  way  her  head  drooped? — or  a 
touch  of  new-born  humility  in  her  attitude?  Whatever 
it  was,  Gabriel  found  it  very  charming. 

To  his  surprise,  he  found  himself  quite  at  ease  in  her 
presence.  The  change,  if  it  could  be  called  such,  had 
given  him  an  advantage.  "  You  used  to  be  afraid  of 
me,  Gabriel,"  said  Nan,  "  and  now  I  am  afraid  of  you. 
No,  not  afraid;  you  know  what  I  mean,"  she  explained. 

"  If  I  thought  you  were  afraid  of  me,  Nan,  I'd  get 
[  443  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

out  of  the  carriage  and  walk  home,"  and  then,  as  the 
carriage  rolled  and  rocked  along  the  firm  clay  road,  Ga 
briel  sat  and  watched  her,  studying  her  face  whenever 
he  had  an  opportunity.  Neither  seemed  to  have  any  de 
sire  to  talk.  Gabriel  had  forgotten  all  about  his  suffer 
ings  in  the  sweat-boxes  of  Fort  Pulaski ;  but  those  experi 
ences  had  left  an  indelible  mark  on  his  character,  and  on 
his  features.  They  had  strengthened  him  every  way — 
strengthened  and  subdued  him.  He  was  the  same  Ga 
briel,  and  yet  there  was  a  difference,  and  this  difference 
appealed  to  Nan  in  a  way  that  astonished  her.  She  sat 
in  the  carriage  perfectly  happy,  and  yet  she  felt  that  a 
good  cry  would  help  her  wonderfully. 

"  I  had  something  I  wanted  to  say  to  you,  Nan,"  he 
remarked  after  awhile.  "  I've  wanted  to  say  it  for  a 
long  time.  But,  honestly,  I'm  afraid " 

"  Don't  say  you  are  afraid,  Gabriel.  You  used  to  be 
afraid ;  but  now  I'm  the  one  to  be  afraid.  I  mean  I 
should  be  afraid,  but  I'm  not." 

"  I  was  feeling  very  bold  when  I  was  mouthing  to 
those  people;  and  every  time  I  looked  into  your  eyes,  I 
said  to  myself,  '  You  are  mine ;  you  are  mine !  and  you 
know  it ! '  And  I  thought  all  the  time  that  you  could 
hear  me.  It  was  a  very  queer  impression.  Please  don't 
make  fun  of  me  to-day ;  wait  till  to-morrow." 

"  I  couldn't  hear  you,"  said  Nan,  "  but  I  could  feel 
what  you  said." 

"  That  was  why  you  were  looking  so  uneasy,"  re 
marked  Gabriel.  "  Perhaps  you  were  angry,  too." 

"  No,  I  was  very  happy.  I  didn't  hear  your  speech, 
[  444  J 


NAN     SURRENDERS 

but  I  knew  from  the  actions  of  the  people  around  me 
that  it  was  a  good  one.  But,  somehow,  I  couldn't  hear 
it.  I  was  thinking  of  other  things.  Did  you  think  I 
was  bold  to  send  for  you?  " 

"  Why,  I  was  coming  to  you  anyway,"  said  Gabriel. 

"  Well,  if  you  hadn't  I  should  have  come  to  you," 
said  Nan  with  a  sigh.  "  Since  I  received  your  letter,  I 
haven't  been  myself  any  more." 

"  Did  I  send  you  a  letter?  "  asked  Gabriel. 

"  No ;  you  wrote  part  of  one,"  answered  Nan.  "  But 
that  was  enough.  I  found  it  among  your  papers.  And 
then  when  I  heard  you  had  been  arrested — well,  it  is  all 
a  dream  to  me.  I  didn't  know  before  that  one  could  be 
perfectly  happy  and  completely  miserable  at  the  same 
time." 

Then,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  entered  the  car 
riage  she  looked  at  him.  Her  eyes  met  his,  and — well, 
nothing  more  was  said  for  some  time.  Nan  had  as  much 
as  she  could  do  to  straighten  her  hat,  and  get  her  hair 
smoothed  out  as  it  should  be,  so  that  people  wouldn't 
know  that  she  and  Gabriel  were  engaged.  That  was 
what  she  said,  and  she  was  so  cute  and  lovely,  so  sweet 
and  gentle  that  Gabriel  threatened  to  crush  the  hat  and 
get  the  hair  out  of  order  again.  And  they  were  very 
happy. 

When  they  arrived  at  Shady  Dale,  Gabriel  insisted 
that  Nan  go  home  with  him,  and  he  gave  what  seemed 
to  the  young  woman  a  very  good  reason.  "  You  know, 
Nan,  my  grandmother  has  been  Bethuning  me  every  time 
I  mentioned  your  name,  and  I  have  heard  her  Bethuning 

|  415  ] 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

you.  We'll  just  go  in  hand  in  hand  and  tell  her  the 
facts  in  the  case." 

"  Hand  in  hand,  Gabriel  ?  Wouldn't  she  think  I  was 
very  bold  ?  " 

"  No,  Nan,"  replied  Gabriel,  very  emphatically. 
"  There  are  two  things  my  grandmother  believes  in. 
She  believes  in  her  Bible,  and  she  believes  in  love." 

"  And  she  believes  in  you,  Gabriel.  Oh,  if  you  only 
knew  how  much  she  loves  you !  "  cried  Nan. 

They  didn't  go  in  to  the  dear  old  lady  hand  in  hand, 
for  when  they  reached  the  Lumsden  Place,  they  found 
Miss  Polly  Gaither  there,  and  they  interrupted  her  right 
in  the  midst  of  some  very  interesting  gossip.  Miss 
Polly,  after  greeting  Gabriel  as  cordially  as  her  lonely 
nature  would  permit,  looked  at  Nan  very  critically. 
There  was  a  question  in  her  eyes,  and  Nan  answered  it 
with  a  blush. 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  said  Miss  Polly,  oracularly. 
"  I  declare  I  believe  there's  an  epidemic  in  the  town. 
There's  Pulaski  Tomlin,  Silas  Tomlin,  Paul  Tomlin,  and 
now  Gabriel  Tolliver.  Well,  I  wish  them  well,  especially 
you,  Gabriel.  Nan  is  a  little  frivolous  now,  but  she'll 
settle  down." 

"  She  isn't  frivolous,"  said  Gabriel,  speaking  in  the 
ear-trumpet ;  "  she  is  simply  young." 

"Is  that  the  trouble?"  inquired  Miss  Polly,  with  a 
smile,  "  well,  she'll  soon  recover  from  that."  And  then 
she  turned  to  Gabriel's  grandmother,  and  took  up  the 
thread  of  her  gossip  where  it  had  been  broken  by  the 
arrival  of  Nan  and  Gabriel. 

"  I  declare,  Lucy,  if  anybody  had  told  me,  and  I 
[  446  1 


NAN     SURRENDERS 

couldn't  see  for  myself,  I  never  would  have  believed  it. 
Why,  Silas  Tomlin  is  a  changed  man.  He  looks  better 
than  he  did  twenty-five  years  ago.  He  goes  about  smil 
ing,  and  while  he  isn't  handsome — he  never  could  be 
handsome,  you  know — he  is  very  pleasant-looking.  Yes, 
he  is  a  changed  man.  He  was  going  into  the  house  just 
now  as  I  came  out,  and  he  stopped  and  shook  hands  with 
me,  and  asked  about  my  health,  something  he  never  did 
before.  Honestly  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it;  I'm 
clean  put  out.  Why,  the  man  had  two  or  three  quarrels 
with  Ritta  Claiborne  when  she  first  came  here,  and  now 
he  is  going  to  marry  her,  or  she  him — I  don't  know 
which  one  did  the  courting,  but  I'll  never  believe  it  was 
old  Silas.  I  am  really  and  truly  sorry  for  Ritta  Clai 
borne.  We  who  know  Silas  Tomlin  better  than  she  does 
ought  to  warn  her  of  the  step  she  is  about  to  take.  I 
have  been  on  the  point  of  doing  so  several  times;  but 
really,  Lucy,  I  haven't  the  heart.  She  is  one  of  the  fin 
est  characters  I  ever  knew — she  is  perfectly  lovely.  She 
is  all  heart,  and  I  am  afraid  Silas  Tomlin  has  imposed 
on  her  in  some  way.  But  she  is  perfectly  happy,  and 
so  is  Silas.  If  I  thought  such  a  thing  was  possible,  I'd 
say  they  were  very  much  in  love  with  each  other." 

"  Possible !  "  cried  Gabriel's  grandmother ;  "  why, 
love  is  the  only  thing  worth  thinking  about  in  this  world. 
Even  the  Old  Testament  is  full  of  it,  and  there  is  hardly 
anything  else  in  the  New  Testament.  Read  it,  Polly, 
and  you'll  find  that  all  the  sacrifice  and  devotion  are 
based  on  love — real  love,  and  unselfish  because  it  is  real." 

"  It  may  be  so,  Lucy ;  I'll  not  deny  it,"  and  then,  after 
some  more  gossip  less  interesting,  Miss  Polly  Gaither 

[  147  1 


GABRIEL    TOLLIVER 

took  her  leave,  saying,  "  I'll  leave  you  with  your  grand 
children,  Lucy." 

When  she  was  gone,  Gabriel  stood  up  and  beckoned  to 
Nan,  and  she  went  to  him  -without  a  word.  He  placed 
his  arm  around  her,  and  then  called  the  attention  of  his 
grandmother. 

"  You've  been  Bethuning  Nan  and  me  for  ever  so  long, 
grandmother :  what  do  you  think  of  this  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  think  it  is  very  pretty,  if  it  is  real.  I  have 
known  it  all  along ;  I  mean  since  the  night  you  were  car 
ried  away.  Nan  told  me." 

"  Why,  Grandmother  Lumsden !  I  never  said  a  word 
to  you  about  it ;  I  wouldn't  have  dared." 

"  I  knew  it  when  you-  came  in  the  door  that  day — the 
day  that  Meriwether  Clopton  was  here.  Do  you  sup 
pose  I  would  have  sat  by  you  on  the  sofa,  and  held  your 
hand  if  I  had  not  known  it?  " 

"  I'm  glad  you  knew  it,"  said  Nan.  "  I  wanted  you 
to  know  it,  but  I  didn't  dare  to  tell  you  in  so  many  words. 
I  am  going  home  now,  Gabriel,  and  you  mustn't  call  on 
me  to-day  or  to-night.  I  want  to  be  alone.  I  am  so 
happy,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Lumsden,  as  she  kissed  her, 
"  that  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  any  one,  not  even  to 
Gabriel." 

And  this  was  Gabriel's  thought  too.  He  saw  none  of 
his  friends  that  day,  and  when  night  fell  he  went  out  to 
the  old  Bermuda  hill,  and  lay  upon  the  warm  damp 
grass,  the  happiest  person  in  the  world. 

THE     END 

[   448   J 


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